A week ago today, we were still glowing/recovering from Grandma and Grandpa Casler’s annual Christmas carol party. While this party has changed in many ways over the years, the actual party has happened on the first Saturday of December since the dawn of time. Or at least as long as I can remember. There is always food and singing and table hockey and crafts and reading the Christmas Story. This year Brendan was certain that this was his party, along with Grandma and Grandpa. While Grandma was reading the Christmas story, Brendan kept whispering to me, “I need to go help Gramma Grampa”. I asked him to wait until they started the singing, and then he could go help. The second the singing started, my little man got up, walked all the way around everyone, up on the stage, and scooted in as close as he could to his Grandparents.
At one point I went up to check on everyone, and Brendan waved me away saying, “No sit down, Mommy” and then turned his attentions back to leading the singing with his co-hosts. (Rob somehow captured this in a movie, but it’s stuck on his phone, so you’ll have to take my word for it).
Brendan and Grandma had practiced handing out bells, and I didn’t know if Brendan would rise to the occasion or not, but I shouldn’t have wondered.
There were several young kids who doted on Brendan all night. One of them even chose a race car as her prize so that she could give it to Brendan.
Then of course came the dessert bonanza, all prepared by Grandma.
Brendan got to eat yummy things, hang out with people who love him, and stay up WAY past his bed time. Needless to say, he loves parties.
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The carol party always wears Grandma out. It’s not surprising, since she puts all of herself and everything she has into every last detail. She has always done this, but she has an artist’s soul which means that she continually comes up with new ideas about new things to add to the party. There is rarely any subtracting. Add to the mix that she is a perfectionist. Add to the mix the fact that her hours and level of activity leading up to the party would wear out someone half her age. Or a quarter of her age. There is no curtailing her – she is a stubborn woman. I know, because I take after her in many ways. But this is one inner urge I’m fighting very hard to change. Because a week ago tonight, I got the call I have always feared. At 11:30 my phone rang and it was my Dad. He said my Mom was having a serious medical issue – that the ambulance was at the house – that she was unresponsive and he feared it was a stroke.
I’ll skip over many details to say that she is home now. Doing better. It wasn’t a stroke – and appears to be a somewhat manageable condition going forward.
I know that working this hard for the people she loves is what makes her happy, but I have always worried about her in these situations. Even when I was a little girl I would try to find ways to take enough off her plate so that she could sit down for a minute. But even if she agreed to let me tie all the ribbons on the candy canes, it only freed her to make one extra dessert. She will never rest. Over the years I have tried to come to terms with the worry by thinking deeply about who my Mom is, and how that fits with my definition of love. I believe that love starts with recognizing that each person is unique, and becomes more beautiful by helping to encourage and inspire a person to become even more of who they are meant to be. I love my Mom deeply and completely. So in the same way that I would have to let her skydive if that was what most moved her soul, am I asking her to be less of herself if I ask her to curtail her activities? I don’t even know exactly how or where I would try and draw the line in reducing her to-do list, but it doesn’t matter – because no matter how dire the consequences, only my Mom can draw that line. At least finally I have some hope – because if anything will encourage some healthy change, it’s her all consuming love for one small boy who passed out bells for her at the party.
On my way back from the hospital one night, I was hurrying in hopes that I would get to give Brendan one last sleepy kiss. I was a few blocks from home when I saw the unmistakable red and blue lights flash in my rear view mirror. I pulled over and a young police woman about my height walked over to the car. We had the predictable conversation between the law and the perpetrator. Then as I was fumbling to find my registration and proof of insurance, she told me that she lives in the town where my Mom was in the hospital. And that she drives exactly the same car that I do. When she returned with my license she said, “Slow Down. Happy Holidays.” And with those four words, she gave me two amazing gifts – first, the forgiveness of my speeding sins, and second – my new holiday mantra.
It’s always my wish, but I’m not naturally predisposed to slowing down. It’s clearly not in my DNA. So I need encouragement and reminders that doing more isn’t always better. That sure, it’s more blessed to give than to receive – but that doesn’t mean drastically depleting yourself for trivial pursuits. There are so many things I want to do during the holidays to show those around me how special they are. But hopefully the end of the year isn’t like some last ditch effort for extra credit in order to earn a passing grade – hopefully I can be better about spreading love all year round. And maybe people aren’t really looking for more from me or anyone else during the holidays – maybe what we all need is a little less. Less to do so that we can be still and truly experience the season.