Holidays and Special Occasions
As I sit with my coffee this Christmas Eve morning, I can't help but to reflect on last year's Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is the day my husband's family gathers; Christmas Day is the day we spend at home with our immediate family. We rotate houses every year for Christmas Eve festivities. Last year was not our turn, but I felt the urge to have it here anyway. I certainly did not feel up to hosting a party, but I felt the urge to have it here anyway. Last year I had been living with metastatic breast cancer for three and a half years. The average survival rate is three years. I was diagnosed in March of 2015, and there's no way of knowing how long I'd had it before diagnosis. I had graduated from walking unassisted to using a cane to using a walker everywhere I went, except for times when there was a lot of walking and I used a wheelchair. I was exhausted all of the time. I came straight home from work and went right to bed every day. I knew my condition was deteriorating. I really felt that it would be my last Christmas, so I felt the urge to host it here, just one last time. It was an amazing evening. I sat in my blue recliner and watched the children play, listened to the murmurs of side conversations along with the Christmas music playing. I loved seeing the smiles on everyone's faces, and hearing the laughter in their voices. I think I paid more attention, was more in the moment, than ever before.
You see, there's something about knowing that this might be your last Christmas that makes it even more special. You pay more attention. You feel more. You notice more. You love more. This goes for every holiday and special occasion when you have a terminal illness.
This Christmas will be no different. Oh, we're struggling mightily this year. Although my quality of life has improved with my being more active at the gym, the fact remains that I still have a terminal illness. After every treatment (every three weeks), it takes me a few days to get back on my feet. This past time I also had a cold, so it's taking longer. Some days I need to just stay in bed for the day, which some days is impossible. You may or may not know this, but my husband has Parkinson's. I don't talk much about that because that's his story to tell, not mine. When we both have bad days, it's pretty bad. Some of those nights are "cereal for dinner" nights; that is, if either one of us can muster the energy to pour the milk. These are the emotional and physical struggles. There is also the financial struggle of not only the medical bills that we've tried to adjust to having during the past almost five years, but now it's quite evident that he needs to stop working. Disability will cut our income noticeably. We're discussing our options on what we need to do; possibly sell the house and move in to something smaller/cheaper.
I tell you all of this not to gain your pity, but to try to help you to understand. Special occasions are just that -- special. Each and every one should be treated like they might be your last. Trust me, you will enjoy them more. They will have more meaning. You will treasure the memories. Even if your birthday dinner is from Chick-fil-A and you serve it on your good china. Even if you don't have a tree up at Christmas (this is the first year -- ever -- we haven't had a tree up). The people you are with and the memories you are making (and leaving to your children) are priceless.
Tim McGraw said it best:
You see, there's something about knowing that this might be your last Christmas that makes it even more special. You pay more attention. You feel more. You notice more. You love more. This goes for every holiday and special occasion when you have a terminal illness.
This Christmas will be no different. Oh, we're struggling mightily this year. Although my quality of life has improved with my being more active at the gym, the fact remains that I still have a terminal illness. After every treatment (every three weeks), it takes me a few days to get back on my feet. This past time I also had a cold, so it's taking longer. Some days I need to just stay in bed for the day, which some days is impossible. You may or may not know this, but my husband has Parkinson's. I don't talk much about that because that's his story to tell, not mine. When we both have bad days, it's pretty bad. Some of those nights are "cereal for dinner" nights; that is, if either one of us can muster the energy to pour the milk. These are the emotional and physical struggles. There is also the financial struggle of not only the medical bills that we've tried to adjust to having during the past almost five years, but now it's quite evident that he needs to stop working. Disability will cut our income noticeably. We're discussing our options on what we need to do; possibly sell the house and move in to something smaller/cheaper.
I tell you all of this not to gain your pity, but to try to help you to understand. Special occasions are just that -- special. Each and every one should be treated like they might be your last. Trust me, you will enjoy them more. They will have more meaning. You will treasure the memories. Even if your birthday dinner is from Chick-fil-A and you serve it on your good china. Even if you don't have a tree up at Christmas (this is the first year -- ever -- we haven't had a tree up). The people you are with and the memories you are making (and leaving to your children) are priceless.
Tim McGraw said it best:
Merry Christmas, my friends.
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Merry Christmas Tammy! It's not the tree that makes Christmas, its the love! XO
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