Facing the holidays, reflecting on the year we decided to go public

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving in 2021, I wrote a Christmas letter to tell friends about the turn our life had taken. Evelyn had been dealing with Alzheimer’s disease for at least two years, and then a Parkinson’s diagnosis had come that fall.  

Although this was the first time we had announced her problems, many had wondered what was causing the changes they were seeing in her. It was time to go public.

As we approach the third anniversary of mailing that letter, and the fifth anniversary of Evelyn’s conclusive Alzheimer’s diagnosis (and doctors had hinted at it a year before that), I’m reflecting on how much has changed since then.

Thanksgiving is different

When I wrote that letter, I would not have predicted Evelyn’s move to a care community three years later. Even last year, after a challenging Thanksgiving at home, I recorded my intention to begin investigating such places. I would get to it soon, I said. (My kids were only the most vocal of those close to me concerned about how much longer I could keep Evelyn at home.)

This year I drove five hours to spend a most enjoyable Thanksgiving weekend with my daughter and her family.

Evelyn and I made the same trip together for Thanksgiving only two years ago, but that would be impossible today. Evelyn’s traveling days are over, and we are learning to enjoy celebrating without her. She will not sit with us around a family dinner table again.

Celebrating is different

Until this year, I labored to make every celebration our celebration. But I am slowly coming to embrace a new reality; today all plans and activities and initiatives are mine alone.

Our life has become my life. Evelyn is a part of it, but not a partner in it. I’m not fighting this, but it’s all new, and I’m still learning.

A month ago I would have told you I’m progressing well on the path toward being comfortable alone. But after time change a few weeks ago, I realized winter would present new challenges.

I realized winter would present
new challenges.

November days are notoriously gray here where I live in the Ohio Valley. Even when we do see the sun, it has set by late in the afternoon. When I leave my visits with Evelyn around 4:30 or 4:45, I’m driving home to a dark house.

And I hadn’t thought much about the holidays. It took a while for me to feel comfortable leaving Evelyn alone on Thanksgiving. I’m convinced she absolutely did not care; it was just another day to her. But Thursday when my son-in-law mentioned her name in his prayer before our feast, I had to work to compose myself before the “amen.”

Holidays are different

This is the way it will be now. Evelyn will be a part of our holidays, but never at the center of them. We can’t forget her. We’ll make room to include her, or take time to remember her. But the real celebrations will continue without her.

Children will grow and flourish. Old traditions will evolve into something new. We will discover and create fresh brilliance even as we watch her fade.

Christmas is coming, and I’m getting ready. I visited Evelyn Monday and found staff members where she lives busily hanging ornaments and decorating mantels. Artis is sponsoring a door decorating contest, and my friends Sev and Paul are determined we should win it. The transformation happened yesterday, and I really think we have a chance!

Cincinnati Pops sponsored a BOGO ticket sale last weekend, including tickets for their annual holiday extravaganzas. I reached out to some friends who said they’d be pleased to go with me.

I’m presiding at an all-church carol sing and attending two Christmas parties sponsored by places where I volunteer.

Friends are coming for dinner the 20th, and family after that. So I’m decorating the house. (But I am, I really am, cutting back on all the kitsch. A decorating tip from The Wall Street Journal this weekend: not every flat surface needs to be adorned. Hmmm . . . we’ll see how that goes.)

I’m different . . . and the same

Frankly, I’ll enjoy all this Christmas busyness without needing to tend to Evelyn at home. But, in this year of firsts, I won’t be able to forget this will be the first Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in 51-plus years the two of us haven’t celebrated together.

I’ll see Evelyn those days. I don’t envision taking two carloads of our family to descend on her in one big blob, but neither do I plan to ignore her. Maybe we’ll get there in smaller groups. I’ll go, at least a little while, by myself if that’s what seems best.

Whatever we do will be fine. And the same as before. And also so, so different. This is the balancing act I find myself navigating these days: everything changed along with so much that’s so typical.

This “journey” I’m chronicling takes turns I couldn’t have understood when I wrote that Christmas letter three years ago.