Home for the Holidays

We make Christmas so much harder than it needs to be, but then I think by nature we make everything more difficult. We're neurotic. Not just me, but you too. We dissect everything down, and play out scenarios, and project onto people, plants, and animals. Okay, so maybe it's just me...and maybe my family. But we really do make life treacherous...or at least can.

When D and I first got to my parents house in sadly dilapidated Fort Madison, my mother and step-father were in Burlington finishing up the Christmas shopping. Wal-Mart, the epicenter for last minute purchases...perhaps Target if you're high-end middle class. It was nice to sit in mom's cozy little paneled, snowman decked-out, living room despite the faint odor of cat pee. Yes despite the smell of animal urine there's something, well...cozy...about coming home, at least for the holidays. Even if the holidays themselves have a faint urine smell. Pissy.

My mom's house was only slightly crazy with ornamentals this year. Usually their house could be seen from space, and the inside was adorned with at least 3 Christmas trees of varying sizes and brightness, Greenery tries to impress a full-of-life quality, but is really dead and brittle, and shit-tons of Christmas object d-arts of various themes, but mostly snowmen. She even switches out the rugs in the kitchen with Christmas Bear themed rugs. Oh, AND a toilet seat of Santa. When the lids down his bright eyes look up at you while you unzip, and when the lid is up he is hiding his eyes...or at least pretends too. It reeks of holiday spirit, you can't help but want a cup of eggnog or feel the urge to hum a carol.

My step-dad made his entrance storming through the living room carrying about 5 wal-mart plastic bags.

"You're mom spent way to fuckin' much on Christmas. She knows we don't have any money...We're not doing this shit next year."

He said that last year. He is right, though, they don't have the money. My mom hasn't been able to work in about 2 years, because her body started to fall a part. Knee replacement, hip replacement, 2 vertebrae fused, carpal tunnel surgery 3 times, wrist re-built...hmmmm think that's it. She was just recently diagnosed with Rhumatoid arthritis. She's in constant pain and hopped up on Vicadin and Valium. The medication has taken something from her eyes, that's what I've noticed most.

And would you believe even after that long list of surgeries and history of pain my mother is still fighting for her social security. The 'government' doesn't believe she couldn't go back to work at the factory. The factory work which, if not caused, exasperated her condition. So, she has stacks of hospital bills and everyday bills with absolutely no income, except for the money she makes babysitting all of my sisters' kids.

My step-father hasn't been any luckier. He contracted Hepatitis-C while working in the ER during Vientnam. I guess they didn't follow universal precautions in the middle of a war in the jungles. His liver is pretty damaged, and last week he was diagnosed with Diabetes. One of the only things he said after the diagnosis was, "I can't get sick. I have to work to take care of your mom."

I went into the kitchen and mom was sitting on her stool, hunched over, smoking a cigarette. Generic Menthol 100s. She justifies her smoking by saying, "My doctor said my lungs look really good for someone who smokes." 'Someone who smokes' probably being the qualifier in that sentence.

She was crying.

"I just can't do anything for anyone. I don't have any reason to be on this earth, J. I can't do this anymore."

Merry Christmas, ma.

I should have said the typical response, "You do have a reason. I need you, mom." But I think she needed a reason besides us kids this time. She has been living her life for the kids her entire life. I wish I could say I came up with some wonderful reason to live, but I didn't. I just stood there, feeling my heart break. Knowing how much she was hurting. Knowing what's it's like to feel like you have no purpose. We need a purpose, however illusionary this notion may be.

Mom quickly recovered, wiped her face with the cuff of her jacket, and began putting things away in the kitchen. She hugged me and said she was glad I came.

I suppose this initial interaction with my mom was the tone of the entire trip home. There were some in my family in very precarious financial situations feeling the burden of the holiday season; filled with some self-perpetuated guilt from the inability of being able to purchase something for every member of our very large family. There were fights about money, and pacts made to spend a lot less next year.

This time home I saw how sad my mother has become. There were times when her eyes still light up, and mom's eyes really do. She can make anyone feel welcome, and has the most genuine laugh. But then too often she was inaccessible, staring off, eyes dark and vacant. She can't keep going to that place. I really wish I could make things easier for her...not just give them money, which of course isn't an option, anyway...but find a way to allow her to release all that pain, both physical and the kind housed heavily in the chest.

It would've been a good year for one of the mythical Christmas Miracles...wonder where I can order one for next year...lay away perhaps.?