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!
