…home for the holidays. That song keeps running through my head today. Perhaps due to the myriad of holiday movies my mother has forced me to watch in the past month, I just cannot seem to get the old standards out of the repeat track in my mind. I used to love holiday music. So much so, that each Christmas I used to buy my friend’s spouse a new CD or collection of CDS so we could listen to it. She HATED Christmas music. I know. I know. I was an excellent friend.
I haven’t felt much of that Christmas magic in the past few years or so. This is a common theme among so many of the holiday movies I have been tortured with in the past weeks. Someone has lost their Christmas spirit due to a death in the family, or working too much, or a tragic childhood, or giving up on her/his dreams, or any number of other events, and s/he happen to run into someone who is so full of the Christmas spirit that it just seems to flow from them in magical glowing beams of holiday glittered goodness. How can anyone resist holiday glittered goodness. right? In any case, in two days–sometimes a week if the movie is slightly more “realistic,” the grumpy holiday cheerless human’s life and spirit are transformed by the charms of the spirited human and they all end up happily ever after.
My mother loves the Christmas movies. She does not care that they are not ethnically diverse apart from an occasional token townsperson, boss, friend, or pastor. She does not mind that when people say no, they are pursued and pestered until they say yes. She really could care less about the ridiculous timelines and simplistic solutions to major life problems. Since my mother, as she says, is probably having her last Christmas, I have been forced by my own choice not to be a total boogerhead into mostly cheerfully consuming two, sometimes three, Christmas movies a day. These movies have not helped me find Christmas spirit as yet.
I’ve been keeping an eye out, but no one with flowing beams of holiday glittered goodness has stepped into my life through a chance encounter on a train, or in a supermarket, or in a delivery to my house. Real life doesn’t have time for such things after all. Even if some such glittering human were to appear, given all of our training on how to avoid strangers and keep safe, I probably wouldn’t be inviting someone to sleep over at the farm (even in the guest room) while their car was repaired, the snow storm cleared, the tree was selected, etc, etc, etc.
I am more than grateful that my mom, who was told by the ER doctors that she would have around two months to live over a year and a half ago, is still here to watch horrible movies with. Those doctors didn’t know about the newest cancer blocker out there. Mom says that so far, the new blocker she is on tends to give people about 18 months longer…you do the math. She says some people have gotten up to 24 months. She’s not holding her breath though. Actually, she can’t. Her lungs are getting worse again. Not as bad as when they collapsed which lead her to the ER where the doctors told her she would have so little time left, but bad enough that she doesn’t walk up the hill on the farm any more. Bad enough that when she stands up for too long, it hurts too much to breathe.
The thought of next Christmas without her inspires waves of grumpy I can’t even articulate. However, the fact that I will now be forced to watch at least a few horrible, cheesy, glittering goodness filled Christmas movies a year in memory of these last months with mom leaves me wishing that someone out there, somewhere might bring some of that glittering goodness to my door.
I’m just someone trying to figure out how to juggle ten acres, work, a mama with stage four cancer, and a whole lot of grumpy. This blog started out as “Grumpy Gal’s Guide to Gratitude,” but since all I really keep typing about is the garden, I figured I might as well own it! So, thanks for joining me as I try and figure out how the heck to kick myself in the booty and get on with life.