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As I write this column there are just three days left until Christmas and I’m finally in the Christmas spirit. It took me a long time this year. I went through the motions. Hung the lights. Purchased and wrapped the presents. Made the gingerbread houses and listened to Christmas music. But that feeling of joy escaped me. These last few months have been tough for my family. My Baba (Ukrainian grandmother), the matriarch of our family, the maker of our traditions and keeper of our history, passed away at the age of 96 earlier this month. For several weeks before that she had been bedridden in a home, unable to even feed herself, her body giving out while her mind stayed sharp. It was hell for her. When she would wake from sleep she’d repeat how much she hated what had become of her once-strong body. It killed me to see my Baba like that. This was the woman who, when she was working in the field as a young adult, felt her tonsils literally explode from infection and she just spit them out and kept on working. It was miles to a hospital and “what could they do anyway?” was how she told the story. This was the woman who worked tirelessly as a chambermaid to make ends meet for her family when my Gido (grandfather) was too drunk to get up off the couch. She’d take care of him too, because she took care of everyone. That’s who she was. She was a strong believer in the Lord and was the influence that led much of my family to Christianity, myself included. I always looked up to her, idolized her and loved her fiercely. So it was a messed-up mix of emotions when I talked to her in those last few months and she’d tell me how she wanted to go and be with the Lord. On one hand I understood completely and on the other I wasn’t willing to let her go. It took me a few weeks to finally muster enough strength to pray through tears that she be taken home. On Dec. 4 that prayer was answered and I was angry. It’s hard to explain the thoughts and feelings I wrestled with in the days that followed, but it definitely kept me from wanting to sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” and visit mall Santas with the kids. So I stumbled around in a mixed-up sort of state, going through the Christmas motions and feeling guilty whenever a sliver of joy would find its way in. Then this week, something changed. I can’t really put my finger on what happened, but the joy of the Christmas season has found me. Although I still feel sad at times, thinking about this being the first Christmas without my Baba, I just keep reminding myself that she’s having the best Christmas ever, free of pain in heaven with her Lord and saviour, and we’ll be together again someday. I hope that, no matter your circumstance, the joy of this season has found you too. Merry Christmas. |
