Christmas didn’t die suddenly for me. It faded to meaninglessness over the last 20 years. In 2003, just a few months after my grandparents (my father’s parents) passed away within two months of each other, my grandfather was diagnosed with an aggressive form of dementia. He fought for 10 years, spending the last five or so in diapers, bedridden, mumbling, eating, and sleeping like a baby. His wife, my grandmother, found her purpose in taking care of him until he passed. Shortly after he died, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
I don’t know what my grandparents did wrong in their past to deserve such cruel karma, but apparently, I’ve inherited their genetic legacy. Lucky me.
My 85 years old grandmother died today, August 18, 2024, peacefully in her sleep. Every year during Christmas, she made Christstollen for each of her children and grandchildren. Despite not being a big fan of Christstollen, I would take one with me every year to share with my friends. But as my grandfather’s death loomed, the good cheer of Christmas began to fade. In recent years, as my grandmother’s mind deteriorated, so too did the Christmas traditions. I was pulled into adulthood, forced to watch Christmas die along with my grandparents. But now it‘s up to me to revive the Christmas spirit I learned from my grandparents to pass it on to my children and maybe grandchildren. I always loved Christmas as a kid, and my kids shall love it the same way.
But despite the sadness I feel right now, I also feel a sense of peace. She didn’t suffer, and the struggle is over. Maybe she’s with my grandpa again now. That’s something I want to believe.
I love you, Grandma. Thank you for everything. I’m grateful to have had 45 years of my life with you. I know this was a gift, and I appreciate it. May you rest in peace now and have a safe journey to wherever you go.
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