My surgery was scheduled for early December, with assurances that I would be home and feeling well for Christmas. I finally had found what I wanted - the biggest and the best - and I was looking forward to getting it over with. But at the same time, my father-in-law's health began a rapid decline. One day when we went to visit him, I reached out to hold his hand and was shocked to notice that his wrist was no larger than my own. He had always been heavy, hearty and robust. Now he had become confined to a hospital bed, and was existing on liquid nourishment. He no longer tried to speak. Alzheimer's had taken its toll, and his death was imminent.
Please don't think I'm a heartless person, but I was hurt, angry and disappointed. This was a time I wanted and needed to be concerned with living. I didn't want the death of a 92 year old Alzheimer's patient to take this away from me. God forgive me, but I was selfish. His circle of life was ending; there was still a good chance that mine could continue. Why did this have to happen now? Why did I have to play second fiddle? Why was I outclassed, trumped, one-upped? It just wasn't fair!
I said and did all the right things, but my heart wasn't in it. He died on December 14th., and the funeral was the day after Christmas. That year, we went through the motions of being joyous, but we weren't. I was bleeding, whispering, vomiting and napping. My husband was caught up in his family members and his Princeton ties. We decorated the house, lighted the lights, fixed the dinner, and exchanged the gifts, but it just wasn't a merry Christmas.
At my father-in-law's funeral, I wore a dark dress that hung on me like a hanger. My special friend Rosann sat behind me throughout the service, just in case I needed damage control. She was the only person who knew. At the reception, I smiled mutely and wandered aimlessly around shaking hands and thanking people for coming. I also made frequent trips to the ladies' room to make sure I was in no danger of an accident and to throw up. I carried a small black purse crammed full of maxi pads, and had a back-up supply in the glove compartment of the car.
Christmas was a silent time - silent in loss, in emptiness, in sickness. Of all the years in my life, this was the least joyous Christmas of them all.