Kangatopia

My mother loved Christmas. It was probably her most favorite time of year, and my childhood memories of Christmas time are ones that I treasure. She loved to bake and make candy, and she would often spend the month of December making things to take to the people at work or to give to family. She always kept her own fridge and pantry well-stocked with these things too. The last drama-free, really happy, idyllic Christmas memory that I have from my childhood happened one Christmas eve when she had packed up stacks of toffee to take to my grandparents. We loaded the car, drove out to the country to see my grandmother and came back. I don’t know exactly why that memory is so special except that it was Christmas Eve, I was excited, she wasn’t stressed out, and it was just her and me. She was happy, and everybody in my family was in good health. The next several Christmases would be marred by family drama, extended hospital stays for my grandmother and at least one fire.

I don’t know if my mother would have chosen to die at Christmas time, but I’m starting to think of the timing of her death as a blessing of sorts. I didn’t think I would have a very happy Christmas this year, but I’ve also realized that to not have a happy Christmas would be a choice that I would make. My mother loved Christmas, she believed in God, and for her to go to God at Christmas time seems right somehow.

The morning after she passed away, it snowed. She loved it when it snowed. She grew up in Texas, and lived most of her life here. In this part of the state, we don’t generally get snow very often. When it snows, it also usually ices but the snow itself is light and sparse. That morning when it snowed, I kind of thought it was a cruel joke that it would snow and she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. But, then, I considered that if there is a God and Heaven, then maybe she was getting a beautiful view that none of us could see. She was removed from the prison of her body. She was free from the confines of her problems, her psyche, the complications of her emotions. Maybe the snow was her gift to us.

I miss my mother desperately. I am taking a two week vacation over the Christmas holidays so that I can mourn her out of sight, on my own. But, my mother is free and she is loved, and her passing – in its way and as much as this could be possible – was perfectly fitted to her.