What's In Your "Basket of Cheer?"
As we turn the calendar to December, all things glitter and gold take form. Many Christmas trees are already decorated, and candles will light the way towards hope. Each year, I can’t help but think of my parents in their elder years and how they humbly navigated this time. Their last few years saw minimal Christmas decorations, yet their attitude never lost the joy and magic of the season. I recall a particular a story about my dad that still inspires me.
I walked into the elderly nursing facility to see my dad sitting in the lobby. He loved to greet anyone who came upon his path with that Irish charm that made him irresistible to everyone he met. Christmas trees flanked the facility entrance, and tinsel garland with red bows framed the nurse’s station just around the corner. At the age of 92, my dad looked comfortable in his wheelchair, but still, my heart twisted. Just 6 months prior, he’d been a resident in assisted living. For the most part, he was pretty independent. He walked to the dining room with the security of a walker, played piano whenever he came upon a keyboard, and was content in his own room amidst humble simplicity. And then, he broke a hip and everything changed.
Fast forward following hip repair surgery, it’s December and my dad was now dependent on a wheelchair for ambulation. His new reality included a move to a nursing facility where he shared a room with another resident. He became more isolated and lonely. There were more dozing naps, less interactions with others. One day melded into the next, and at times, I saw resignation in his eyes. My heart sank every time. I knew he would never regain his old life, but nothing ever changed his ability to seek all things positive.
I sat with my dad as we talked about the usual array of things. I brought up the upcoming Christmas gathering at my brother’s house. We shared excitement about seeing all his grandkids and great grandkids in such festive form. In years past, he asked me to pick up a bottle of wine for him to bring. He never wanted to walk into any gathering empty handed. But when I brought up the usual point of order, my dad stopped me. Instead of wine, my dad asked me to put together a basket of cheer. Thinking I didn’t hear him right, I replied, “A basket of cheer? What does that mean, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” he responds with a chuckle, “things that make you cheerful!” Our conversation turned to frivolous and fun banter. We brainstormed trying to define what actually constitutes cheer in a basket. We laughed about everything from packaging sunshine in a mason jar to meatloaf sandwiches with catsup and thinly sliced onion (my dad’s personal favorite). It felt good to laugh with him.
I left our visit giggling, challenged to decide for myself what a basket of cheer might mean. I was also pretty touched at my dad’s ability to rise above. Despite his difficult transitions of the past year, he still had a place of joy in his heart where creativity and imagination flowed.
Little did any of us know that Christmas would be my dad’s last. He passed just days into the new year.
It’s been six years since my dad challenged me to redefine cheer. As I begin to create some sort of organizational chart to navigate this very busy time, I still make sure at the top of my list is a reminder to create a basket of cheer. Every year it’s a little different, except my first thought which is to always to include a meatloaf sandwich.