The Year Without Christmas
This time two years ago was not a good time for our family. We had lost my maternal grandmother just prior to Thanksgiving, which we were still processing, and my dad had found out he needed bypass surgery. Surgery was scheduled for December 20, and while we knew it was a major surgery, there was nothing that made us overly concerned. We anticipated probably spending at least some part of Christmas in the hospital as dad recovered, but nothing too worrying.
Surgery itself went well, but recovery was another story. As dad got further along in recovery, he actually started doing worse instead of better, until he could no longer move his left side. At that point in time they believed he had had a major stroke and were telling us that he was likely to be paralyzed on his left side. Then the seizures started.
The good thing about the seizures is that they showed that his left side was moving, which caused them to reevaluate the situation. As they got the seizures under control, he started moving along in recovery and everything started looking better. Until it became more evident that he was struggling with spatial recognition, writing, reading, and spatial recall.
On top of the roller coaster of emotions and recovery was the struggle of how to tell my not quite 2 year old son that his favorite person, his grampy, was sick, and we weren't sure how much better he would get. I cried for at least two days for what they both could lose.
We found a Little Golden Book of the Christmas story for my dad to read for the family on Christmas. That was probably the most poignant reading of the the Christmas story I have heard, as my dad struggled to read it, but yet wanted to participate in what is an annual tradition for our family. We did have another setback after that as his brain was healing and remaking connections, which made December 25 a not fun day.
We call it the year without Christmas because the whole season was so disjointed that we never had a proper Christmas celebration. We would open gifts with different people when we had the chance, but never really got anything fully together.
Yet in all of that, I believe we saw a Christmas miracle. Today my dad is fully recovered and would never know from talking to him that he had ever dealt with that type of recovery. There is no physical sign of the stroke, even in his brain. He and my son carry out their merry mischief-making, building tracks for various vehicles and finding new objects to turn into Hot Wheels tracks.
I want to encourage you today, that even when things look bleak, there is still space for a miracle this season. Regardless of your beliefs, be willing to make room for the good. Be open to the possibility that things can change for the better.
