Chapter 47: Christmas Gifts

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While Mom was in the nursing home, Dad always ate Christmas dinner with her and the other residents. The rest of the family visited them after dinner in one of the private meeting rooms near the reception center. We gave her our gifts and, to make it a special occasion, served eggnog and pie – pumpkin, apple, and pecan. After cleaning up and bringing Mom back to her room, we left the rest of the pies for the nursing staff.

After her death, we assumed Dad would have Christmas dinner at our house with Leslie and her children. We assured him that one of us would drive him home as soon as he was tired. He said he'd like to come, but later said he was undecided, then finally declined. We promised to stop by that afternoon. He said he looked forward to seeing us and promised that coffee would be waiting.

I think of him waking alone on Christmas morning hearing church bells ring from the five steeples seen from his kitchen window. He'll have no tree, no presents to open, no one to whom he can wish Merry Christmas. He'll sit on the edge of his bed and take an inventory of his aches and pains. As he said, "Got to make sure I'm alive before I stand up." Perhaps he won't remember it's Christmas. It may sound like an ordinary Sunday morning with the church bells ringing.

***

Two days before Christmas, Jon drives in from upstate New York and helps Rachel decorate the tree. Jennifer and her husband, Declan, drive down from Vermont on Christmas Eve. We sleep late in the morning, I play carols on the radio, and we enjoy a leisurely brunch before opening gifts.

Calling Dad, we take turns wishing him a Merry Christmas. It's not a short call. We must often repeat what we say or talk louder. Sometimes he's hard to understand but after asking "What?" too many times, we agree with him and hope it's the correct answer. I end the call by reminding him that he's invited for dinner. "Thanks, but no." He'll become angry if I harp on his doing something he's made up his mind not to do. "Okay. We'll see you midafternoon."

Leslie and her children arrive for dinner. Over dessert, we discuss plans to visit Dad. Rachel and Jennifer's husband elect to remain home and clean up. "With Leslie and the kids going, there'll be more than enough confusion." Relieved of doing dishes, the rest of us don't try to change their minds.

Normally Rachel would come with us, but Dad didn't recognize her when she arrived for a visit on Thanksgiving. She saw the momentary confusion in his eyes and doesn't want to cause any unnecessary anxiety on Christmas. "I'll visit after Christmas. Don't leave until I make up a couple of plates with leftovers. They'll be easy for him to heat up next week."

We drive to his apartment in two cars. My niece, Elaine, drives the cousins in her mother's car. I imagine our children taking the opportunity to kibitz: "Guess what Mom wants us to do?" her kids might say. Our kids counter with a facetious remark about Rachel or me, or both of us.

Leslie gets into my car. "Dad didn't sound so hot on the phone this morning," Before I can answer, she struggles to buckle her seatbelt. "What's the matter with it?" She pulls the strap back and forth trying to find the lock. It clicks. She leans back, sighing from the exertion. "Now I can't remember what I was going to say."

Once we're on the highway, she turns to me. "We need to move Dad to assisted living. He can't care for himself alone in that apartment any longer."

"He'll never agree to move—"

"Then we must convince him." Leslie logically examines a problem and makes a rational decision. Only then does she consider the reality to implement her solution. I'm the exact opposite, so busy worrying about what people think of my ideas that I can't reach a reasonable resolution.

"What if the elevator breaks down again?" Leslie asks. "Last summer he'd have been trapped like a rat if I hadn't taken him in. Thank God for Elaine's help. And yours too, with shopping." Unexpected problems dragged out the repair work for three weeks. Caring for Dad wore Leslie out despite her daughter's help.

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