A Little Story of Welcome

For a long time, everyone in my family had a special ornament. Their "person". My mom and my aunt made these ornaments, carefully cutting out, sewing, and embroidering them. Everyone's name is on the back, so if there's any question of who that brown-haired ornament is for, guess no longer. Every year, these were the first ornaments we put on the tree, with my parents joyfully declaring, "Merry Christmas!" like it was some holiday movie. Super cheesy. Makes me smile now, though I ached with embarrassment as a teenager at the tradition (even though no one but the family was part of it, and would never know).

My mom was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's around the time of my wedding. As you can imagine, life was very busy. My mom mentioned several times that she wanted to make my spouse a "person" ornament, but didn't get around to it.

The year we moved down to Washington, sometime before Christmas, my mom came to me one day looking very sheepish. I asked what was up and she said that she'd finally tried to make the ornament. But it was awful, and she was embarrassed to show it. I said it couldn't possibly be that bad, so she showed it to me.

You guys. It really was that bad. I took one look at this derpy, demented ornament and started cracking up. Instead of the cutesy gingerbread person style ornament I was used to, this was clearly an ornament that had special needs. I couldn't help it, I started whooping with laughter, doubling over with it. My mom started laughing too and there we were, cry-laughing over this idiotic ornament. My mom swore, "I'll make a better one," as we wiped our eyes and held each other through several more minutes of giggling.

She didn't. Her abilities only declined further, obviously, and she might well have forgotten that she either made one or promised to make a better one soon after she handed this one to me.

Every year, I pull this stupid looking ornament out of our Christmas box and, once more, I start hollering with laughter and telling my spouse what a good likeness it is. My mom really captured him! It not infrequently gets put front and center on our tree by the kids, who don't quite understand why it's so funny but they sure do know it makes their mom laugh.

It makes me laugh, but also I love it. I love that my mom was, in her way, trying to welcome my partner into the family and into our traditions. I love that she tried. I love the memory it evokes, of the overpowering laughter with my mom that burst out of both of us, uncontrollably. It was the last time I got to laugh like that with my mom, unrepentantly joyfully and without thinking about what we would lose next. This was before my dad died, before my mom lost the ability to speak, to walk, to eat. It helps me remember not just that good time, but all the ones before where my mom and I got to laugh like that together. It can be hard to bring up those memories instead of remembering, sadly, the way she was at the end. In an odd way, this ornament brings back my mom, not her illness, even though it wouldn't have been demented this way if she hadn't been ill when she made it. It's the imperfections that make it special, that bring back the memories and show how much we were loved by her. 

Happy holidays. I hope you spend them surrounded by people who love you enough to make fantastically bad representations of you.