Christmas Cards
Monday evening I got back home after dinner with Amanda and checked the mail. Local sales fliers, the power bill, my ever-present Cheryl's Cookies catalog tempting me with buttercream-covered deliciousness—and a Christmas card from my grandpa. A thin green card with penguins on it, one he probably picked up at Dollar General, where he told me he'd been doing all of his shopping.
"Merry Christmas to you both," the inside said. "See you on Christmas Day. Love, Grandpa."
For some reason—maybe it's because I've already been overemotional this month, maybe it's because I was tired and overwhelmed with everything to do—this made my eyes well up. It seemed like something special, a turning point. Grandpa had not only picked out cards, he had signed them, addressed them, mailed them. Christmas cards! Grandma would be so proud.
"Got your Christmas card!" I texted him.
"Grandpa sent us a Christmas card!" I texted both Mom and Michael.
In retrospect I imagine Mom probably helped him quite a bit with addresses and whatnot, but it still felt momentous, and for a moment seemed like things would be okay. Life is going on. Grandpa will be okay. I felt the same way a few weekends ago when Mom and I helped him put up Christmas decorations. It's still sad, and the loss of Grandma is still a physical pain in my chest, but it was so much better this year than last. This year was doable, while last year was not doable at all.
Later he texted me to double check what he was supposed to get at the grocery for everyone to eat Christmas Day. When Grandma was around he wouldn't have had any clue what we were eating; now he's worried about whether or not we have enough sides, or enough to drink.
It's a bit silly that I find it so heartening that a grown man is actually caring about what people are going to eat or whether or not they get a Christmas card. Low bar.
"Merry Christmas to you both," the inside said. "See you on Christmas Day. Love, Grandpa."
For some reason—maybe it's because I've already been overemotional this month, maybe it's because I was tired and overwhelmed with everything to do—this made my eyes well up. It seemed like something special, a turning point. Grandpa had not only picked out cards, he had signed them, addressed them, mailed them. Christmas cards! Grandma would be so proud.
"Got your Christmas card!" I texted him.
"Grandpa sent us a Christmas card!" I texted both Mom and Michael.
In retrospect I imagine Mom probably helped him quite a bit with addresses and whatnot, but it still felt momentous, and for a moment seemed like things would be okay. Life is going on. Grandpa will be okay. I felt the same way a few weekends ago when Mom and I helped him put up Christmas decorations. It's still sad, and the loss of Grandma is still a physical pain in my chest, but it was so much better this year than last. This year was doable, while last year was not doable at all.
Later he texted me to double check what he was supposed to get at the grocery for everyone to eat Christmas Day. When Grandma was around he wouldn't have had any clue what we were eating; now he's worried about whether or not we have enough sides, or enough to drink.
It's a bit silly that I find it so heartening that a grown man is actually caring about what people are going to eat or whether or not they get a Christmas card. Low bar.