PEG OF OUR HEARTS: A CHRISTMAS STORY

I considered creating a blog about my mother, one of 5.5 million Americans diagnosed with dementia. I wondered if her struggle with the disease as well as the experiences of my sisters and myself would be helpful to others in the same position. I thought it might. Then, I wondered, "Would Mom truly want to be the subject of a blog that discusses the details of her life post-diagnosis?" That answer came to me like a coconut being dropped on my head from an angry palm tree.

At 86, Mom (aka Peg), is still a force to be reckoned with, capable of turning her four daughters into quivering Jello Salads of guilt. Take, for example, when we tricked her into moving into her assisted living facility. "You're just here for rehab!" we fibbed, "You'll be home in five weeks." But, Peg was onto us. She carefully pointed a finger at each daughter and said, "If you are lying to me, you are going to..." Then, she slowly turned her thumb downward, towards the place she dare not name. Enough said.  There will not be a blog about a dementia patient forthcoming as I do have a degree of concern for my immortal soul. Still, my mother had a life worth sharing, and I would like to do so with the occasional post, here.

Actual footage of Peg, as played by Joaquin Phoenix

In our family, Mom is The Queen of Christmas. When we were young, she performed incredible feats of strength during the holidays. We'd moved from Ohio to Delaware, yet made the eight+ hour trek back to the grandparents each year to celebrate Christmas. Mom had us write to Santa, suggesting he deliver our presents the night before our journey, thus sparing my parents the need to haul gifts. That meant that we celebrated Santa's arrival on the last day before winter break. Thus, we were having seizures of delight over our gifts only hours before we were to board the bus for school. Some might say that would have been the perfect day to skip, in order to get a head start on our journey. Take that up with Peg. Skipping school was not up for consideration in our family. In fact, she'd only call us in sick if we were hemorrhaging from the eyes.

Once home from school, we all took our assigned seats in the Chevy - My parents, the twin sisters, and the caged parakeet in the front seat, my teenaged brother, sister, myself, and the dog in the back. Mom kept us on a strict schedule throughout the trip, offering our first snack, a Tootsie Pop, when we hit the first tunnel on the PA turnpike. Next came a sack lunch in the Allegheny Mountains, then an opportunity to buy a cheap toy in the vending machines at the rest stop just outside of Pittsburg. When we arrived at the Grandparents', Mom spent her time chauffeuring us to different cousins, and preparing her five children for Christmas Eve, Midnight Mass, Christmas Dinner at Grandma's and Late Christmas Dinner at the other Grandma's. I'm sure there was more involved, but we kids weren't paying attention. We gave Mom zero credit for any of it. After all, Christmas was all about us!

"We know everyone will be thrilled to see us, because it's US!"

Once we returned to Ohio for good, Mom's role as The Queen of Christmas began to manifest itself. As the grandmothers were ready to retire from the role, she took over as the de facto hostess. In the early days, every room in our house was filled with guests. We kids, now in the early stages of adulthood, opted to stay up all night at our parents' house, drinking adult beverages and reminiscing, before crashing on the floor under the tree. Those were simple, yet satisfying Christmases. But, it all changed when we began to get married and have children of our own.

"What were we thinking? Life was easier under my parents' Christmas tree."

As the family grew, so did Peg's Christmas spirit. The house began to look as if it were decorated by Courier and Ives. Mom made sure the tables were graced with the finest china and silver. Because this took a great deal of polishing and hand-washing, she began a month ahead of time. By mid-December, the tables were set and covered with dust-clothes, the decorations in place, and all gifts bought and wrapped and settled under the tree. When we all arrived on the day, dressed to the nines as fit the atmosphere, Dad would have a fire going in the fireplace, Tom and Jerry's ready to serve in a special punchbowl, and an open bar established in the kitchen. We could smell the turkey cooking from outside the house.  Mom and my aunt, her twin sister, would be relaxing by the tree with a Southern Comfort Old Fashioned, taking a breather.  In that house, in those days, we made merry in a such a way as to make the Jolly Old Elf jealous!

"Think we're keeping the neighbors up?"

Of course, as families will do, ours continued to grow. The grandchildren became adults, and the guest list now included their boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses. Soon enough, great-grandchildren began to appear. "Mom!" we pleaded, "It's too much for you. It's time to let someone else take over." Her reply? "The day I stop doing Christmas is the day I'm dead." All righty, then. We did, at least, manage to convince her to tone things down. She agreed to no more fine china, crystal and silver. Instead, she had the garage completely redone to turn it into our family's personal holiday event center. She had carpeting laid, cabinets and serving stations built, and space heaters set into the walls. A few days before the big event, the cars were moved to the driveway, and the carpets cleaned. The garage was then transformed to a winter wonderland, complete with a Christmas tree, wreaths, and festively decorated tables. Mom instituted a White Elephant gift exchange along with a Christmas plate decorating contest. This brought great merriment as well as an opportunity for my sisters and I to engage in our favorite past time. Arguing about rules.

"A gift can only be stolen TWICE. I GOOGLED IT!!"

Things change. In the case with Mom, we'd been observing the slow but steady shift for a few years. The time had come for our mother to hand off Christmas duties to her daughters. We would not be taking her place, but would, instead, be given the honor of hosting The Queen of Christmas in our own homes. When we moved Mom into her apartment, we put up decorations, including a small tree with her favorite ornaments, at Christmastime.  Days later, our handiwork would be non-existent. "Mom," we'd ask, "Why did you take down your Christmas decorations?" "Christmas is over," she'd reply, even though it was only December 10.  Some would say this is the dementia talking, and I wouldn't disagree. But, I can't help but believe it's something more.  She has instilled in her children and grandchildren a need to come together for the holiday. She has established a precedent and passed down traditions that will be carried on in the Christmases of generations to come. In other words,  Christmas is not over. But, for The Queen of Christmas, her work here is done. And what fine work it has been! Merry Christmas, and loving gratitude to our beautiful mother, Peg. Happy holidays to you all!

The Queen and her Devoted Knight.