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The Magic of Christmas is Not What I Thought

It’s Much More

Bebe Nicholson
Middle-Pause

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Christmas tree and packages. Photo by author

Christmas chaos has destroyed the serenity of my spare bedroom. Buried beneath layers of tissue paper, ribbons, Amazon boxes, holiday cards and gifts, the room has become my staging area; a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes leading up to December 25.

But three years ago, the spare bedroom harbored a different sort of chaos. It was my mother’s room.

At first, it remained serene. With her suitcase wedged in a corner and her clothes hung neatly in the closet, there was barely a ripple to indicate she was anything but a quiet and unobtrusive guest. She spent most of her time in the family room with me and only returned to the bedroom to sleep.

But that changed as dementia progressed. First came the hospital bed, then the portable toilet, then boxes of extra linens and supplies, and finally an extra chair dragged into the room for the women who arrived daily to help with her care. Their assistance was essential but intrusive, adding to our upheaval.

I tried to quell the chaos. I moved a television to her room and turned on her favorite shows. When she grew disinterested, I changed the channel to continuous, soothing Christmas music. But dementia and impending death bring their own mayhem. The helpers and I were a nonstop parade, in and…

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