Over the past week, I’ve done two things that brought me joy. Storing up good things in my internal well helps to balance out the sadness of grief–that I spoke of last week in my post Struggling During the Holidays: Hope for Depression.

Yesterday, I took lunch to my cousin. Growing up, she was like an older sister who was watching out for me. She and her parents would come every Christmas Eve for our Rosser family dinner. How I looked forward to hearing their car in the drive, anticipating our feast followed by presents—the first I could open. We had a meal of turkey, ham, Mama’s one-time-a-year Waldorf salad, vegetables, Brown ‘n Serve rolls and desserts–always my favorite. They included my aunt’s pecan pie and Mama’s chocolate walnut cake–using black walnuts from the farm that Daddy had painstakingly picked out.

After dinner, we opened our presents. I remember how I especially loved the shiny silver necklace with monogramed locket she gave me when I was in seventh grade. It always felt good knowing she was watching out for me. Now, it’s time for me to watch out for her as she and her husband are in their eighties and experiencing health challenges. How glad they were to see me.

“Here’s our Christmas Eve dinner,” I told her and unpacked the Christmas plates and food: chicken casserole, salad, and decorated cake squares from Lowe’s bakery. We set the dining room table and put ice in the glasses for tea.

“You’re not going to rush off after we eat, are you?” she said, and then added. “Stay all afternoon.”

Her words rush off touched me. Had my visits in the past seemed like something I was doing to check off my list? Had I been too busy to actually be present?

We enjoyed our meal and afterwards she wanted me to follow her into the living room. There she pointed out a rocking chair.

“Remember this?”

I did; it was her father’s favorite chair that had been re-upholstered. We talked about our memories of him sitting there and greeting our family warmly when we came for a visit. My uncle had been a man with an easy smile and calming manner, one who made me comfortable even as a little girl. How nice to share that memory with her.

Later in the afternoon, when it was time for me to leave, she and her husband walked me to my car. Then they stood in front of their house and waved when I passed on the highway. It had been a meaningful Christmas Eve.

Today, I attended my four-year-old grandson, Parks’ Pre-K Christmas program. A couple of his classmates recognized me from last Friday when I read to the class. How good it felt for those young, bright faces to smile at me, one saying, “You’re Grammy,” and the other, “You read the Frosty the Snowman book.” That first time of being a volunteer reader had been memorable for those little ones.

Parks loved sitting on the rug next to me in the child-size chair. It’s nice to get special attention, to be singled out in a good way–no matter your age. I took every chance to call on him, to ask a question or give him a Grandma hug. One of his classmates asked me, “Can I call you Grammy?” I looked at Parks and asked his permission, “Is it okay, Parks–even though I’m not his grandmother?” Parks agreed to that and the little boy remembered when I went back for the program today.

What a joy it was to watch Parks sing his heart out, his little face reddening with all that effort at what was not just singing but scream-singing. He followed his teacher’s instructions to sing loudly 🙂 I had tears of happiness as I watched all the children perform and their delighted parents videotaping those precious memories.

I drove away thinking about what a contrast yesterday and today had been; spending time with kids who were four and adults in their eighties. Though it was hard to see the realities of aging, there was joy in sharing the deep memories of Christmas Eves long ago and a favorite Uncle in his rocking chair. There was deep satisfaction watching my grandson become more of who he’s meant to be, singing with feeling and sharing my Grandmotherhood with his friends.

Tomorrow, I’ll attend the memorial service for Gabe, the thirty-five year old musician that we lost. It won’t be easy to witness the pain that his family has been experiencing. I hope that all of us that gather will feel the love of connectedness when you are present at a meaningful time, where there’s the belief that beauty can rise out of the ashes.

Blessings to You All in this Holiday Season,

Connie