Where did all my spirit go?

Where did all my spirit go?

Well, Christmas has come and gone and I never did get the Spirit.

Something has happened to me. I used to be the person with the most holiday spirit. I started sometime around Halloween and by Thanksgiving I felt like I was just going to burst. But the last several years have been completely flat. Maybe we're born with all the Christmas Spirit we're ever going to get and each year we use up a little at a time -- and I just burned through my allotment too quickly. Maybe the last half dozen years have been so overwhelming that the Christmas Spirit couldn't burn through the haze of real life. Maybe there is no reason and it's just the way it is.

This year, there was some improvement in my holiday spirit -- but it was very small and fleeting. This was the first year since my separation and divorce that I put a real Christmas tree. The last couple of years I put up a fake one. Aside from that, I just kept thinking if I can make it until Monday, I'll get the spirit... if I can make it until Wednesday... Friday... Christmas Eve.

The plan was to drive to my grandmother's house in West Virginia on the Friday before Christmas. My grandfather passed away about six weeks ago. My grandmother is undergoing chemo for stage three lymphoma and my mom is taking care of her. I had made this plan for the benefit of my mom and grandma. I wasn't looking forward to the visit. My mom can be very demanding and belittling. She and Elizabeth clash because Elizabeth is strong willed and self-confident. My mom can't handle self-confident people -- even if they're only six years old. Elizabeth was very frank that she didn't want to go. She said that my mom was too angry and mean. She said that my mom liked to hurt her feelings. But, I could hear from my mom's tone of voice on the phone that she was buckling under the stress of caring for my grandma.

At the funeral my grandmother looked good. She was starting to lose her hair, but it was only gone in small patches. Aside from a couple of bald spots, she seemed like my grandmother. All along I've been talking to my mom. She made it sound like my grandma was doing very well. I knew that she was having a hard time with the stress, but I thought that was because she couldn't be self-absorbed and wallow in her self-pity.

I wasn't prepared for my grandmother's condition. Now completely hairless (including eye lashes and eye brows) she looked like a gaunt, pale, caricature of a cancer patient. Her legs were so weak she couldn't walk unassisted. Her voice had faded to soft, high pitched sound that hovered somewhere between a whine and a plea for help. She often complained of blurred vision and the inability to feel her feet. My grandma had always been a strong woman. A decisive and opinionated woman. But she was now fragile and almost broken.

My mom continued to tell me that the doctor was optimistic and said my grandma was doing splendidly. But somehow I couldn't escape the feeling that this was the last time I would see her. Maybe I'm tainted by the loss of my father. His last Christmas he too was in the middle of extensive chemo. He kept joking that we had to do whatever he wanted, serve whatever foods he requested, and give him all the gifts he asked for because it might be his last Christmas. That was my dad's dark humor. He never would have said it, if he believed it. But he must have made that joke one too many times, because it was, in fact, his last.

So, my Christmas was tainted with the sour smell of death and bitter words.

I had told my mother a thousand times that Elizabeth is very picky about her clothes. It's not safe to buy clothes for her if she's not present to inspect and approve of them. But when Elizabeth opened a present containing a dress that she deemed too childish for her -- my mom took this as the most horrible affront. She berated Elizabeth for her ungrateful thoughts and words. She is still berating me for raising such a thoughtless, rude, and ill-mannered child.

Now I agree that Elizabeth needs to learn grace and tact and that she should be thankful for all gifts. I did correct her when she blurted out that she didn't like the dress and wouldn't wear it. But, isn't my mom the adult in the situation? Isn't it childish and petty to be stewing over the words of a six year old three days later -- especially after you've been warned that was dangerous territory? In a funny way, I’m glad that Elizabeth speaks her mind. The trick for me is to teach her how to do it in a polite and loving way.

In any case, we can start looking forward to next year. Perhaps I can make it better.