You know you’re in trouble when just the card on a Christmas present brings tears to your eyes.
The last few weeks I’ve been calling Mom almost every day to find out about Dad but also to see how she’s doing. That she managed to get her Christmas shopping done in plenty of time to send packages from California to us on the East coast strikes me as a monumental achievement when I know that she’s also buying presents for her three other children and their spouses, her nieces and grandnieces, her nine grandchildren and their spouses. “I got it all done!” she said in one triumphant phone call.
I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Mom’s incredibly organized and has amazing energy, even in this period when she’s been visiting Dad twice a day, for lunch and dinner at the nursing center where he now lives. “I show him the cards we get and tell him what I’ve been doing,” she’s said. “I think he understands.” For 62 years they’ve been a team. Why should that change?
My present, two no-iron shirts from Lands’ End, was exactly what I asked for in just the right size. But it was still the card that got to me, that reminded me of the fragility of life and all that I can be grateful for. No doubt there’s a lot I’ve taken for granted about that team and how much it has sustained me over the years.
“Thanks for the present,” I said when I called her. I wrote a note too, because that’s what she taught us to do. Maybe she’ll show it to Dad on one of her twice-a-day visits. But her card to me I’m saving.
“Love, Mom and Dad,” it said. Like always. Forever. Mom & Dad.
