Silent Night
Christmas Eve ended about 25 minutes ago, but we've only been home for about that long. Christmas Eve is traditionally spent with my family at my grandmother's. This year, we ran late, and missed the other relatives who drifted in and out. It was a quiet evening, with a notably somber tone. In her bedroom, my grandmother looks like a bloated female version of Marley's ghost from A Christmas Carol. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, but were open, making for a truly unnerving sight. She was completely unresponsive to anything, and her breathing was little more than a puff or a rattle.
It is in all likely hood, that she'll die tonight. Honestly, it would shock the hell out of me if she made it through tomorrow.
I've suspsected for more than a week that she would die on Christmas. I've known for two days that she was officially on her death bed. I don't know how to feel. Sad, I suppose. Eager to see her go, not for the vindictive reasons I always thought, but just to see this long suffering end. There's not much left of her. Just a barely recognizable husk. It hurts me, that there were never any apologizes. That we never really buried the hatchet for years of tumoril and pychological torment, even physical abuse. It bothers me that she will never really get to know the great grandchild she worried about so profusely. Natalie will never remember her. I don't know if I am glad about that.
Needless to say, Christmas this year is marked by the shadow of death for me. Yet we carry on. We eat, drink, and be merry. We play Christmas music and exchange gifts. We take pictures and smile. My daughter's first Christmas Eve in her pretty red velvet dress and white sweater with the little white bow on her head to hide her portruding and very visible temporary birth mark. She was so beautiful and sweet.
Tomorrow my husband and I will wake up for our usual routine of feeding and staggering around like zombies. But we'll make coffee and open presents. His youngest brother will be along around 10 to share the morning with us, rather than spending it in his depressing college apartment alone. Then that afternoon it's down to visit his father, and then the big Christmas hooplah at his mom's.
Then that night we'll come home, loaded with our gifts and full bellies, and crash on the couch and watch It's A Wonderful Life.
And Christmas will go on, like it always has, like it always does. Despite everything. Christmas goes on.
I wish you all a silent night, a bright and snowy morning, and the love of family and friends. Merry Christmas everyone, everywhere.