The essence of Advent
It’s an odd year for my family. My parents, 88 and 89, have lived rich and full lives, and my husband, children and I have shared holidays large and small with them.
But this year they are confined to rooms in a nursing home. I realize with a lump in my throat that they won’t be coming to my house for Christmas: Dad doesn’t have the energy, and Mom would be enervated from the confusion. And this year, for that matter, we don’t need to call right on Christmas Day as they won’t know, or at least not for long, that it’s Christmas. Yes, we could buy Mom a new cardigan, but she’ll abandon it early on in favor of her favorite faded coral one.
We won’t attend worship together, although this has been the center of their lives and holidays all these years. I find myself reluctant to even pull out Christmas decorations. Why invite a flush of memories when even the present moment is being pulled out from under me?
