A bit of holiday stress . . .

So, even though mom seems unaware of many things these days, she is cognizant of the fact that Christmas is, if not here right now, just around the corner.  One day last week, it was decided by default that we should celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve day at mom's.  For the next two days, she did nothing but obsess about what needed to be done and why we weren't doing the usual celebration at my brother's house.  Eventually we stopped mentioning it, and unfortunately it's going to be a surprise when everyone shows up on Friday.  We all know who will get left to deal with the aftermath of what will likely be an overwhelming event for her. 

On Sunday, she got a case of the giggles over who knows what?  I still don't know, but I did get a picture of us while she was in the throes of that episode.   Monday I brought over a couple of gifts to be wrapped (for niece Michala and nephew Ryan).  I unrolled the wrapping paper and handed mom the scissors.  She did a fair job of getting it cut, then as I enfolded the boxes in the paper, she handled the scotch tape.  Hardly any of it ended up where it would hold the paper in place, but she felt a sense of accomplishment nonetheless when they were done.

And here is where this blog, aka talk therapy, comes in.  Sometime mid-afternoon yesterday, mom asked me to come into the bedroom.  She wanted me to make sure that she was getting into her bed correctly.  She actually did a couple of practice runs to make sure it was ok the way she was doing it.  Now I'm scared.

To top off a stressful Monday, the doorbell rang and I answered it to find a neighbor who was looking for a piece of missing mail, perhaps it had been delivered to mom's by mistake.  It hadn't, but I was the one who made the mistake of telling mom what the visit was about.  Off we went on a rant that lasted for over an hour about how this could have happened, did she think that maybe she had gotten the card or letter and thrown it away, what if the police came and asked to search her house and on and on and on and . . . well you get the picture.  Just before my patience reached its end, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and had an imaginary conversation with the neighbor.  I told my mother that the neighbor had just received the piece of mail and that all was well.  The relief in her face was palpable.  She was so glad she didn't have to worry about it anymore.  Now she could sleep at night (provided she gets into bed correctly).

So, to end this very long post, just let me say that I am pretty sure that this will be the last Christmas that mom will be able to participate in even peripherally.  While I hate to think that's true, I also can't wait for it to be over.  Thanks my friends for reading and for holding me in the light.  Please hold me way up there . . .