TEARY CHRISTMAS AND A LOUSY NEW YEAR

Not to sound so cliché but it turns out, just like in most homes, Christmas is the most pleasant holiday of all. There is a lot to eat, there is everyone to laugh and talk with, there are presents to exchange and presents to open, and exhilarating of all is… it’s the only time of the year Grandma Meg doesn’t find weary to travel all the way to our home. Oops… I think I forgot a detail – who Grandma Meg is. Grandma Meg is my mum’s mum’s best friend from high school days – they schooled at the same school, graduated on the same day, got employed on the same day, got married on the same day and much more interesting, got divorced on the same when they were 90 years old, bent over and had nearly forgotten everything including the fact that their husbands had died the year before their 90^th birthdays- craziest fate ever. How did she become my grandma then, you say?

Grandma Meg was an only child of her parents. She was unable to bear any children of her own. Just before she turned 74, the only auntie she knew slipped on a staircase at the entrance of her house on a rainy day and died. And that left Grandma Meg without any family except my grandma. Then my Grandma Ruthie also died, living her home with Grandma Meg and a nanny to nurse her – and of course my family. A brief history there.

The year has literally sprinted and Christmas is only three days away from today and I can’t wait!!!!! There is a lot to do in preparation. My mum and dad have been moving in and out of the house with tons of goodies and groceries. Linda, my older sister, has managed to get herself a red dress studded with heart-shaped white polka dots, with her savings from her summer job, which I think would look glamourous on me than it would on her. For sure I’ll get mine but not after Mum is done with her grocery shopping and Dad is certain there is enough to make this year’s Christmas another meaningful one. Jimmy could care less about his attire for Christmas day church service. He chose instead to compete with our cousin Curtis on who would get a better game pad this year. My baby sister Naomi is too little to comprehend, with her tiny mind the hustle and bustle that comes with the usual merrymaking she partakes in all her 4 innocent years. Wait, something is different this year! I see Naomi trying to shine her shoes. If that isn’t a cute hilarious scene, I don’t know what is.

Sun rises and sun sets; it’s Christmas eve. I’m the one who does the calling to Grandma Meg’s house so I did. She now sits so close to the telephone after barring her nurse from ever inching towards it – should she be excused, she would have hanged it on her arm like the clutch purse she takes to church, and gone everywhere with it. According to her, Nurse Sophie filters her messages only because one time, Nurse Sophie forgot to mention that I sent my love after everyone spoke to her.  On the first ring, I hear her old, withered and shaky voice, attempting to pronounce my name rightly. As always. And when the pronunciation was perfect, it was never audible enough – a mere combination of soundless syllables. Subsequent are nods to everything I said although we were miles and miles apart from each other. The other end of the line was an excited me telling Grandma Meg all the niceties – the very tall tree Dad had mounted, the presents he and Mum had wrapped for everyone, the lightings that had been put up and the list goes on and on. I know the call has ended when I hear a snore in the midst of my endless chattering, but I go to bed with a smile on my face recognizing that I have a listening Grandma Meg.

Christmas service is usually a shorter one comparative to normal Sunday service. On our return home, we stopped by Grandma Meg’s to pick her up – her habitual murmurings and complaints were not lost on us; complaints of all sorts from how too sunny it was to how too high the vehicle was for her to climb (something she never does on her own). Then she said something about Jimmy’s hair, and I heard her say Linda’s knee-length dress was way too short to have been worn to church, all these while she dragged her feet to the car, not making any effort to hasten up. Sometimes, I presuppose she deliberately does that knowing no one will penalize her. Finally, the journey to the car is a success and we find ourselves road tripping again, singing Christian songs of old and reminiscing familiar Christmas tunes too.

Everybody, besides Grandma Meg and Dad, rushed into the house, with different motives – some, to change out of their church apparels, some, to get dinner fixed, and some, to get a last win before their first bite, and I had to help Naomi out – growing up isn’t easy for her (I’m so certain much better stories can be told of my childhood).

The table is set. Seats taken. Jimmy is now descending the stairs, skipping some as though he were being hauled over them, and pleading that we wait on him in what sounded like a girly shriek, and landing us into our first roundtable laughter. As Dad’s rule holds, the last to the table says the grace and Jimmy, who has probably been cursed by an old ugly sorcerer to be a latecomer, has been saying grace for as long as I can remember. Dishes have gone round. Once. Then, twice. Then, a third time. A bit of every meal for everyone, and a topic or two to munch on. I know. You don’t have to say it – that it is not a healthy practice to talk while eating. But what is a Christmas dinner without chitchatting and giggling and laughing when necessary. It has been the norm for ages now. Nonetheless, your caution should have come in earlier. Perhaps, before food was distributed. Or even before we all settled down. Too late, I should say.

Grandma Meg wouldn’t spare any family gathering her jokes and Christmas dinners were no exceptions. She shared one hilarious one with us and we all overturned with thunderous guffaws. She was picking her vegetables meticulously, cutting into pieces what she couldn’t chew as a whole, and so we were all surprised when she, out of the blue, choked on a carrot. Hard as Dad tried, he successfully failed at getting it out of her throat, gently hitting her chest as her frailty would allow. The next course of action was to send her to the hospital.

The unfortunate happened approximately 2 miles from the hospital. Grandma Meg ceased breathing. Grandma Meg had passed on. It was a terrible thing. A shocking twist of events. A deafening silence.  A tearful reverse back home. A gloomy festivity. A black New Year’s Day.

I felt cheated. I felt incomplete. I deeply felt the loss of Grandma Meg.

And forever, it will be a sour Christmas.