Celebration

The holiday rush is upon us.  Of course, that means nothing to Mother.  Her days are blessedly the same.  It is the routine, the sparseness, the dependability of day after day that gives her comfort.  Big changes can be frightening for her.  Sometimes just walking with me to the Coke machine that is located off of her hall is scary for her. When we walk to the lobby to look at the fireplace and the electric logs churning away the same pattern of "flames," she wants to know where she is.  Sameness.  She leads a narrow, circumspect life.  She lives for meals and for the familiar faces of family.

Last night was the holiday family meal at the home.  The staff had dressed Mother in a Christmas top, but she had not really noticed the preparations and had no idea what was going on.  For her, it meant that we would eat together, but even then the most important thing was that it was dinner time.  We sat at the long tables covered with the holiday red plastic table cloths watching the swirl of adults and children there to eat with their loved ones. Mother watched the babies.  She has always loved babies.  But when her tray came the only thing she noticed was the cup of ice cream and the cobbler.

All concept of party ended there at the Christmas plate before her.  Her total focus was on her food.  She would smile once in a while, and she used her fork when I reminded her.  But that spoonful of ice cream became her total world.   Even when she mixed it with her mashed potatoes, she was completely engrossed with her plate.  That was her party.  The pleasure of eating in that one moment.

How narrow her world has become.  To have only a vague awareness of celebration.  To see the faces of family and be unable to interact beyond a smile and a comment.  To concentrated on the next bite of food and have that be your best pleasure and celebration. To exist only for the moment.

We left having enjoyed the time with her and the efforts of celebration provided by the home.  But deep down, I feel hollow.  Mother was there, she smiled, she howled with pleasure.  But there was a sense on incompleteness because she wasn't fully there,  the smile was vague, and the pleasure was only momentary.  Sometimes we wish that the Christmas rush would be over.  But when I think of all that the holiday season demands, I am thankful that I am aware.  I am thankful that I can celebrate and enjoy the multitude of activities that I share with family and friends.  The alternative to awareness is so narrow and small, and I mourn that Mother has lost the sense of celebration.