This year, due to a lingering minor illness, I faced the possibility that I would not be able to make Christmas dinner at my house. The idea of not hosting the annual December family feast sent terror racing through my veins. Not make Christmas dinner? Unthinkable!
I remember a year when my mother (who passed 15 years ago, and whose Christmas dinner I have loyally replicated every year since), had injured her back and was bedridden during the holiday. My father hung and angled a mirror on the bedroom door so that she could see our reflection in the dining room from her nearby prone position, and I’m sure (though I don’t exactly recall) that many of us spent a lot of time in my parents’ bedroom that holiday season. I know she was frustrated and saddened by the development, but the celebrations went on and my sister and other family members made the dinner happen. It was a Christmas my mother never forgot, and never wanted to repeat!
More than a decade ago, I received a breast cancer diagnosis just before Christmas. Though I was frightened and distracted, that was one of the most memorable holidays of my life. I distinctly remember making the cranberry sauce that year, reveling in the brilliant red of the berries, feeling the small, colorful orbs between my fingers as I washed them. I clearly remember the faces of my family that year around the table, their expressions of concern and love. The mere thought that this might be my last Christmas with them (thank God it was not) made every moment and every ritual more significant.
Often, come December, I find myself complaining about all the work that needs to be done, the shopping for gifts and food, the cleaning of the house, the decorating and preparations, card-sending, and dealing with traffic and lines at the store. It’s easy to fall into a negative mindset, even while looking forward to spending time with my beloveds.
But when threatened with an illness or when some other complication puts the honor of serving in jeopardy, I’m reminded again of how much my mother loved—and how much I love—to provide. There is true joy in serving (whether you serve at a soup kitchen or in your own home).
The specter of the day when I will be forced to scale back or cancel some of our traditions makes ‘keeping up’ as long as I can all the more crucial! (I recall my mom doggedly making multiple trips to the grocery store in her later years, hell-bent on doing all the shopping herself even though it was a struggle for her to carry the bags home). This season underscores the truism that to love and care for others is the greatest gift of all: As the sacred prayer so rightly asserts, “For it is in giving that we receive." Happy Holidays to all!