Bringing light into the dark
When there is illness or decline in the family during the holidays, it might help to bring some silliness or light.
Posted — UpdatedSeveral years ago, the year my father-in-law was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma in late October and moved in with us for treatment, I wondered how we could possibly celebrate Christmas; but, with three kids in the house, I also wondered how we could possibly not celebrate it.
While my husband and I hurried between jobs and kids’ activities, visits for chemo and all the extra demands that come along with a diagnosis like this, the postman stuffed our mailbox daily with beautiful photos of smiling, perfect families with no trace of grief.
It was all I could do to open the envelopes. I probably left some unopened. I don’t remember if I made it to any Christmas parties. I do remember finding the cards and gifts my daughters were supposed to take to teachers behind a chair long after Christmas had passed.
That year, Christmas Eve came, and my husband’s siblings and their spouses arrived. We all went to the bell service at church. We sang The First Noel and Silent night and lit our candles in the dark. We left singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas and returned home for a special meal together. Uncle Gary brought the British Christmas Crackers and after popping them open, we all put on our crowns. Just being together helped lighten the mood.
On the count of three, we all tore into our packages. Who knew that monkey and pig and cow onesies came in adult sizes? We donned our new pajamas. My sister-in-law Hilary tossed everyone a blue wig and yelled, “Time for blue-haired bingo!”
After that, there were reindeer races (each team would slather their nose in Vaseline, dip it into a plate of red pom-poms and then race to the other side of the room to drop the pom-pom onto another plate) and cup-stacking games. Bryan and Hilary had raided the thrift store for unidentifiable items and we passed them around and tried to guess the use of each one.
Ridiculous, right? Whose family could pull off that? It ended up being just the medicine we needed. I would say it was the best Christmas ever, but it would be more accurate to say it was the start of a tradition of bringing more laughter to the table.
The following year, when Pop’s tumor had swollen his left eye shut, I got everyone pirate hats, swords and earrings. The next year, when Pop was on hospice, each family, outfitted in homemade costumes, competed in a dance-off days before he died. The following year, we wore monkey hats while playing Jinga with enormous blocks made by Uncle Bryan.
Here we are, five years later. Last night, my daughter Sarah and I hot-glued leftover Halloween candy to an old t-shirt and ordered a plastic bat from Amazon. She had devised the idea of creating a human piñata. The adults would take turns being the piñata, while the kids would get to knock the candy off with the plastic bat while blindfolded. (I'll let you know how it goes.)
As you head into the holidays and the endless TV, radio and newspaper ads, road rage, picture perfect family Christmas cards, and the pressure to find just the right gifts, I offer this story. Maybe there’s some equivalent of footie pajamas or pirate hats, blue wigs or human piñatas, that might bring a little light to a time that, especially if your family is experiencing the declines that come with aging or significant illness, can sometimes feel lonely and dark?
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