Merry Christmas, Baby!

B.B. King is jammin' on this great song while the kids sit around the tree, watching the lights twinkle and trying to guess some of their presents. They are SO excited they can't imagine being able to go to sleep. The two little girls are wearing their new slippers and cozy robes. The big kids know it's just too stinkin' hot to wear snuggly clothes with temperatures in the 60s. Tomorrow, they'll all be wearing the sweats they received tonight after bathtime.

Tonight, I'm the Mom, but today I was the baby. I'm the baby of my family, the youngest of four children, and the only girl. I've been called "Baby" all my life, and I've always been given extra attention because of it. I'm very close to both my parents, and I've relied heavily on their daily presence in my home for the last several years. Their 41-year-old baby (I) had them for lunch or dinner several days each week, and they stayed with the babies while I ran errands and then while I went to graduate school. After Dad's heart failure and open-heart surgery in May of this year, my oldest brother and I had to find a "home" for Mom. Dad has had a very long and complicated recovery, and he isn't "out of the woods" yet. He's still staying with my oldest brother who lives over an hour away, because he's not well enough to care for himself again.

I've had a really difficult time dealing with this new chapter in my life as it unfolds. I'm SUCH a baby, a CRYbaby even, but I've had to really be emotionally "cut off" to deal with the decisions and the critical nature of Dad's condition. I have gone through so many days of this year completely numbed by grief or loss or shock or whatever it IS. I'm so afraid to cry, because I think it may never stop. I had put off even thinking about the Christmas holidays with (without) my parents until school was out. Well, then it took until TODAY, December 24, for me to wake up and be an adult and GO SEE MY PARENTS to wish them a Merry Christmas.

I bought a red sweater for Mom and made her a red beaded bracelet to go with it. I packed a few chocolate goodies, too. My fear was that she wouldn't know me; maybe she wouldn't know that she even had a daughter and I am she. There have been days where she didn't, but that was when she was here every day and I could just talk her through it. I was so afraid I would walk into that place, and she would just look at me as she would a stranger, and accept my gift as one receives charity from strangers. On the outside, I would be gracious and understand and be sweet and pat her on the hand and tell her, "Merry Christmas" and then leave. On the inside, I would feel crushed like an abandoned child in desperate need of the love and nurturing only a mother can provide while watching my mother "leave" me as she has since this terrible disease took hold of her mind. Inside, I would be screaming and sobbing with deafening loudness, hoping that the squeaky wheel might just get the grease - no pride, just throwin' a fit, cryin' and stompin' and makin' ugly cryin' faces. These are the thoughts that made my stomach hurt while I got dressed and drove there.

I walked in and she brightened up when she saw me, smiled and hugged me. (She's done this before - doesn't know who I am, but knows she knows me and knows she loves me.) Today, she introduced her friend at the table (without giving a name, just called her "my friend"). I told Miss Evelyn my name. Several minutes later and after much small talk, Mom looked at Evelyn and said, "This is my daughter, Rebecca - Rebecca Owens - my only daughter." Outside, I continued to make polite conversation with this lovely woman, my mother's friend. Inside, I was sobbing with relief and joy that Mom still has a connection with me, and sobbing with sorrow that her remembering who I am is such a surprise to me. It was God's gift to me for Christmas: I had a Mom today. Merry Christmas, Baby!

Thank you, God. It's just what I wanted but was too afraid to ask. It seemed too big to ask for.

I was able to stay for 30 minutes or so, and it was during this time that Miss Evelyn decided to leave our table and go somewhere. She got up and hugged my mother; it was the most loving, tender hug! It was like she was comforting my mother, and she closed her eyes as she patted Mom around the shoulders. This woman who doesn't remember that she just had a piece of chocolate or that she just asked that same question a moment ago - still remembers how to love and comfort. It was such a sweet reminder of all that still IS in my mother. For about the tenth time, I had to choke back the tears that were stinging my eyes to be released. I finally said my goodbyes and left. I barely got into the car and shut the door, and the dam broke. It was a very big visit with Mom.