8th Christmas with Mom
This year I’m not even putting up a tree. It’s just me and mom and she doesn’t know, nor will remember if told, that Christmas is happening. The day of, when all the family fawn over her with their perfunctory phone calls, she will say back to them, Merry Christmas to you too, and they will hang up thinking she remembers them but they don't know she will forget that phone call in less than a minute.
This week I wrap the boxes of candy, and sign the cards Love, Mom or Love, Grandma, and mail them out to all the family so that her tradition continues. I am unseen and unheard, the Great and Wonderful Oz behind the curtain, pulling the levers and blowing the smoke, to keep moms appearance alive and well.
Moms battery is down to 2% and will no longer take a charge. She’s in the red zone and this is all merely a waiting game for me to move on. Her time controls my time. Her clock ticks, my clock ticks, one second behind her. In the blink of an eye or the exhaling of a breath, my life will change.