Last Christmas?

For the past few years my Granny Fran has been making comments about not being around for much longer. And every time I brush the comment aside since Granny is four years younger than Grandpa Vic who normally doesn’t talk such nonsense and physically, spiritually and mentally speaking they have always been healthier than my 20, 30 and now 40 something self. It wasn’t until recently that Grandpa, at age 99, has started voicing what we all know but don’t want to address. He is getting old, has had an amazing life and he might actually not be around much longer. And yet I have been able to put that thought aside each and every occasion and focus on the fun at hand.

For some reason this Christmas was different. True, we had our normal chaos of opening presents, Grandpa Vic enjoyed his glass of wine (with a watchful eye from Granny) and we still had our crab and ravioli dinner followed by the traditional snowball candle challenge. And yet things were different. Grandpa didn’t say his normal grace for dinner (Granny was adamant he didn’t need to which I am sure was partly because she hears enough of the Lord at home already). Which meant there was no chance for the kids (now adults) to side eye each other and stifle their giggles. And it wasn’t until my crab-shell filled plate was cleared and I looked up to see what was going on (I will admit, when there is crab on the table I tend to get tunnel vision that doesn’t extend past the bowl of legs and pinchers) that I realized Grandpa was the only one still eating, my dad and others having long since thrown in the towel.

True to tradition I made a comment about him being the last one standing/eating and he expressed his disappointment in me giving up so early, noting how it is normally just the two of us at the end of each Christmas dinner never quite getting our fill of the seasonal treat. Ignoring the nagging in my heart and deferring to my extended stomach, I told him I was full but promised to finish with him next year taking for granted there would be a next year.

And with his short comment of “I am not sure there will be a next year” (or something to that effect) the façade of naivety came crushing down. This may in fact be my last Christmas with Grandpa Vic. And I stupidly didn’t finish out the meal with him in solidarity. This will be up there in life’s true regrets (for which I have few).

Granny must have seen my world crumbling in my eyes (or felt the attention shifting) for she took the opportunity to bring me back, as she always does, to reality.  While Grandpa finished his crab and wine, Granny grabbed my hand, looked me in my eyes and told me she was going to be okay, she had all of us to look after her, but I was to take care of the paperwork when the time comes.  It was our little moment, our little secret, just the two of us alone at a table full of 11 people all chatting, eating, enjoying each other’s company while the two of us knew what was really going on.  With this statement, she gave me the gift of focusing on the tactical to prevent me from getting lost in the emotional.

I don’t want this to be a downer of a post, the evening was anything but that. It was absolutely perfect, with both families coming together for a fun evening of good food, good wine and good fun. Alva spent the night scooting around the house on her new scooter. Oskar spent most of the time building Legos and playing with his hot wheels track, my dad kept the fire going nice and hot and my mom was the perfect hostess. It might have been our best Christmas since Martin and I got married and started spending the holiday together.

And even more telling on how amazing the night was, it was the first time in a really long time that Granny and Grandpa left not at the encouragement of Granny stating “come on Vic, it’s time to go” but rather because their prescheduled taxi had arrived. Everyone had had a wonderful night.

And as for Grandpa, I still plan to eat crab with him until the end of Christmas dinner next year.