It’s a first Christmas alone and the apartment doesn’t have any Christmas trimmings, but it’s not sad, just different….
THIS IS NOT a sad tale, though it may sound like it. It’s just a tale about time and change.
My apartment is bare this Christmas. Not in terms of furniture. There’s enough. Paintings on the wall. Nice TV. But nothing of Christmas. The tree I bought for our larger apartment, before Connie went into memory care, is in the closet, along with the trimmings and some other knick-knacks we always put out.
It’s not that I’ve become a grinch. Christmas just snuck up on me this year and when I realized it was at the door, I didn’t have the energy to answer the knock. I knew it was coming. The streets downtown are trimmed in lights, storefronts are decorated, houses lit up. West Chester, PA could be a postcard for Christmas quaint.
The apartment complex has its decorations up. Last night the complex had its annual Christmas party, well attended. Down at the memory care unit there are decorations, some created by residents.
Part of the reason I didn’t get the tree out was that on Nov. 21 I had my left knee replaced. I’ve had my right hip replaced twice now so I wasn’t intimidated by the knee surgery, but it’s tougher than a hip, I’m older and the bounce back has been slow. If I has asked my son, or my daughter who flew in for a post-op visit, to put stuff up I am sure they would have. But I didn’t ask.
I think part of what’s going on is that the apartment isn’t “ours.” It’s “mine.” I down-sized into after Connie went into memory care and while she’s visited, she’s never spent a night. It’s not home. It’s a place I live and I am fortunate to have it, but it’s different than years past.
Got me to thinking….about just how much of Christmas is people. Actually, for me, all of it is. My earlier members are of family gathered – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. A lot of them are gone now. Over the years faces changed but Christmas was always people, no matter how many presents were piled under a tree, no matter how many plump turkeys came and went at the end of the table.
I am not sure what Christmas will hold for this year. We will go to our son’s house and be with his family, but it will be different. Connie’s endurance is down. Where a Christmas past would have been Christmas Eve, presents in the morning, too much food all day, this year it may only be a couple of hours.
That’s OK. We live, now, in a dementia world where joy comes in small doses, gifted moments. I’ll take the couple of hours if that’s all it turns out to be on Christmas day.
I don’t need the tree, the doo-dads. I just need those two hours and a lifetime of memories. So, this is not really a sad tale, just a tale of time and change and accepting and appreciating
Rich Heiland has been a reporter, editor, publisher/general manager at daily papers in Texas, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio and New Hampshire. He was part of a Pulitzer Prize-winning team at the Xenia Daily (OH) Daily Gazette, a National Newspaper Association Columnist of the Year. He has worked as a consultant doing public speaking and training business specializing in customer service, general management, leadership and staff development. He and his wife, Connie, live in West Chester, PA. He can be reached at [email protected].