Day 344: This week I’ve already entitled “Decking the Halls” because I’m surrounded by people who know how to do it well.
My parents were only in their twenties when they lost their fathers, but they were blessed to have their mothers stay on earth for much longer. However, when they did lose their moms, it was in December.
My mother’s mother, Grandma Vernie, was first, in 1979. I was a 9th grader. She had been living with us for almost a year, as she fought leukemia. When they gathered everyone at the hospital, I remember driving with my mom to Rexburg to pick up my cousin, Cynthia, who was attending college there. I remember thinking how sad it would be to be far away from family at a time like that.
Grandma Vernie’s death was the first one for me.
The first that I was old enough to remember. The first of someone so close to me. It didn’t help that it was December, because my grandma was crazy about Christmas. She knew how to deck the halls. She loved the decorations. She loved the music. She loved the gifts. Most importantly, she loved the meaning.
One year, she gave me twelve small gifts to open each day. I will never forget the anticipation of waiting for each day’s gift. She got so excited to open her own gifts, that she routinely tried to get us to open all of ours on Christmas Eve, since “Santa will bring something for the morning.” Mom called her a bad influence, but I always thought it was a brilliant idea. She stayed overnight with us on most Christmas Eves, so we had a stocking with her name on it, ready for Santa to fill.
She died on December 15th. We sang “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” at her funeral. I still can’t think about it when that song plays or I ugly cry, which was my same reaction each year when we pulled her stocking from the decoration boxz. She was synonymous with Christmas. She never lost the magic. I’m certain that is why my mother was a believer. She was raised by a believer, herself: Precisely the reason she raised me to be a believer. Are you a believer? Do you deck the halls?
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