A Christmas lesson
Truth be told, this year was the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.
It all started with some time off. I took off Thursday and Friday before Christmas on Sunday, giving me a five-day vacation since I had Monday off. As often as possible, I’m going to make this a trend. Having a couple of days off to easily make my way into the Christmas holiday was just what I needed. Amy and I finished our gift wrapping, she baked some goodies while I sampled and I watched a movie while doing laundry. It doesn’t sound that awesome, but having a little time off with the holiday was just what The Grubesteak needed to unwind.
We spent the rest of the weekend in Baxter Springs, KS (my hometown). My parents’ church had a service on Sunday, which was preceded by a big breakfast. My dad mentioned to me that he was going to help prepare the breakfast and I volunteered. “Hmm…,� I thought. “I can serve others on the birthday celebration of the greatest servant of all.�
It was perfect. I felt humbled and honored to be able to serve. It was nothing big, just filling cups with juice and milk, along with making some coffee. But the joy I had in participating, allowing others to have a free meal on Christmas Day, it made me feel incredible. Deep down, I think I love to serve others. A lot of the times, however, I feel I’m too selfish. I think just having a blog validates this feeling.
But I’m not without inspiration to do better, especially after this weekend.
Saturday evening Amy and I joined other family members in Coffeyville, KS. It was a typical night of eating and pants being unbuttoned out of post-meal discomfort. And, of course, the opening of the gifts.
My grandfather has dementia, and sadly it has progressed to a point that he has a very hard time remembering just about anything. He sometimes remembers me; sometimes not so much. Amy is regularly asked, “Now what’s your name?� And she always smiles and says, “I’m Amy. I’m Eric’s wife.� And then grandpa laughs and says “Oh, that’s right,� like he knew the whole time but was just giving her a hard time.
How I wish that were true.
There were a couple of points in the evening that made get the warm fuzzies inside. The first was when I was standing next to my grandpa and he said, “We’ve sure had some good times, haven’t we?� My first thought was, “That’s an ominous statement.� Does grandpa know something we don’t? Would this be the last Christmas with him? It’s tough to say.
I turned to reply and in a flash I remembered so much about all we had done together. I thought about going fishing with him at ponds near Coffeyville and about how he and grandma would take me and my sister to Roaring River. I remembered how he would dress up as Santa every year and hand out presents (even as I was becoming an adult). I remembered helping him take out the trash at the farm. I thought about my grandfather, the carpenter, how he would let me nail and hammer away at scraps of wood. I remembered being 16 and how he’d let me drive his big red Ford pickup. “Open it up,� he’d say as we drove down a desserted backroad, “and blow all those cobwebs out.�
I thought of all of that in an instant. And as I turned to him I could answer with pride, “Yes, we sure have.�
Another warm fuzzy moment came as we opened gifts. My grandma opened a gift was was “from� grandpa, although I’m sure grandma purchased, wrapped it and signed the card. It was some nice silky pajamas. She opened it and said thanks to grandpa for the gift.
He looked over to her and in what seemed to be a moment of lucidity said to my grandma, “See, I still love you.�
There isn’t a gift in the world that could compare to the memories they’ve shared over the years and the undying, although taxing, love and care my grandma gives my grandpa.
And with that, I learned my Christmas lesson. Christmas gifts alone don’t have much value. An xbox will be outdated in a couple of years. New clothes will be out of style or worn out. iPods might even make it to the $1 Store someday as one of those archaic music players.
But gifts can, in a way, act as symbols of the other more important presents. All those memories, all those special times, are woven within a complex fabric of a history that only those close to the events can appreciate.
I hope that in the next year I can do what is needed to help create better memories. I hope to be a better servant to Amy. I want to be a better custodian of my time. I will persue opportunites to make great memories for the ones I love.
In the end, if I lose all my memories, I hope others will have as fond of memories of me as I do of my grandpa.