Page 35 of As the Years Pass
They don’t have a Christmas tree, and had I known that sooner, I would have gotten one. But despite that, there is still a mountain of gifts as if I am five all over again.
Dad got Mom comfortable in her recliner. She’s leaned back, feet up, with pillows on either side to make sure she doesn’t fall over, and two thick blankets over her, up to her chin.
I never thought I would be looking at my mother like this. Never. Of all the good she did in this world, she did not deserve to go this way. To suffer from cancer that eats away at her body in an uncontrollable way.
I don’t want to sit here and say that anyone deserves this because it’s horrible, but if I did make that judgment, she would be someone who should be safe from the world’s cruelties. All she did was put good into it, all she did was good. For years, she took in troubled kids, kids who had families who didn’t want them, and she made them feel loved. Even if they didn’t act that way, and even if they went on to do awful things—because some of them did—she tried her hardest to love them, especially when they felt unlovable.
“Open your gifts, Em. Come on,” Dad says as he sits beside me on the sofa.
“You guys did not have to do all this,” I say. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Still… my… baby.”
Mom smiles, and I smile back as I head over to the pile and grab one on top. There are at least twenty boxes here. I can’t imagine what all this stuff is, because I don’t need anything.
I open my gifts slowly, making sure to thank them for each and every one. I get clothes, shoes, headphones, a heat pad for my car seat, and the best thing yet—an umbrella.
“If this isn’t the most perfect thing,” I say, holding it up.
“That one was your mother’s idea,” Dad says with a grin.
“It rains there more than I thought.” I get up to give Dad a hug, then I do the same with Mom, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Mom. Thank you for this. Best Christmas ever.”
“Even better… when you were… twelve?”
I think back. “Is that the year you got me that skateboard?” She smiles. “Well, I don’t know if it was better thanthat.” She lets out a little laugh.
Dad puts on the TV and finds a Christmas movie to watch—Elf. He offers to help me clean, but I tell him absolutely not. I’ll have to get another suitcase to bring all this stuff back with me, but that’s not a problem. I can do it tomorrow before I head to the airport.
After I clean up the boxes and wrapping paper, I clean up the kitchen. Mom took only two bites of egg, but that’s good enough for me. She enjoyed her coffee, and seeing her like that was great. It’ll be a nice memory of her, and I’m so glad I came.
When I’m finished cleaning, I go back to the couch and watch the movie with my parents.
“Now… mine,” Mom rasps out, sounding more tired than ever.
“You sure you don’t want to take a nap?” Dad asks.
She shakes her head, but just barely.
Dad searches through the movies and finds “hers.”
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
She always loved this movie, and would watch it throughout the year, not just at Christmas. It always made her laugh, nomatter what she was dealing with or how difficult us kids were being.
When the beginning starts up, her eyes are closed but there’s a smile on her face. Now and then, I look at her, and sometimes her eyes are open, but mostly they’re shut. But the smile stays.
Dad laughs a lot throughout the movie. I try to laugh at certain things, because this movie is funny, but that dread is back and I can’t force it away. I do my best to ignore it and focus on the movie.
This is why Mom didn’t want me here in the first place. She didn’t want me to get upset over seeing her like this. I can’t show her that I’m too weak to stay strong in front of her. I can’t let her worry about me now. I don’t want her last memories of me to be sad ones. I want her to know she raised a strong son.
The more I focus on the movie, the easier it is to get into it, especially when I continue to hear my father’s laughter. I think of his words from earlier, and try to use those to stay strong.
I love my mother, and I would do anything to see her happy. Right now, that means being strong and not letting her see how upset I am over seeing her like this. I push the thoughts from my mind and allow myself to enjoy the movie. Dad and I laugh, bumping into one another because the couch is so small. The movie is just about over, and I’m wondering what we can watch next.
Clark Griswold just got his check delivered to his door when everything goes wrong.
I glance at Mom, as I have done this whole time. She’s still. More so than she has been all morning. I hold my breath as I wait for her to take one. I stare at her chest, waiting for it to rise.
