My maternal grandmother died on November 14, 1994. She had been in declining health for several years and was living in a nursing home... her mind mostly gone. She sometimes recognized me and my mother, because we visited nearly every day, but it would be a stretch to say she recognized any other family members. This ended a seven-year run of daily visits to the nursing home, frustration in dealing with those who "care" for your loved one in a nursing facility, medical visits, my grandmother's constant dissatisfaction with virtually everything, and just the stress and strain of knowing you've done all you can and your mother/grandmother is still unhappy. My mother was sad to lose her mom, but she began to look to the future, and the possibilities of extended travel and time for herself and my dad and being unencumbered with responsibilities at home that tied her down.

In 1997, my father became ill, a very dear cousin died suddenly in late October, and my brother's liver failure became more acute. Suddenly, the holidays were just another thing to get through in a long string of things to be checked off the list. We carried on, with a tighter circle in our tightly-knit family, and we made the holidays as "normal" as possible. But it wasn't the same.

My brother loved Christmas and everything associated with it... the lights, the decorations, the gifts, the celebrations. It was a love he and I shared. My dad developed renal failure in November 1997, and one of his many episodes started in the wee morning hours of Christmas Eve, resulting in a transfer to a hospital in a major city some 65 miles away. My husband and I had planned a huge open house for later that afternoon, and my parents insisted that we continue it. So, my husband and I, along with my brother and sister and extended family, did our best to celebrate Christmas Eve with our open house. We tried to keep the spirit of Christmas alive, although our hearts were not really in it. My sister and brother and I made White Russians and declared them a "new tradition". We probably drank more than we should have, and combined with the early morning hospital trip, our Christmas Eve ended fairly early.

But I'm glad we had that open house... it was to be my brother's last Christmas. He died in September 1998. To celebrate his love of Christmas that year, my mother put out a little Christmas tree with his string of black and white cow lights and his black and white cow dishes he so dearly

• 1
• 2
• next page >>

---

Add your voice

Know something about Testimonies: Grieving during the holidays?
We want to hear your view. Write now!