I’ll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love-light gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
— written in 1943 in honor of World War II troop. sung by Bing Crosby
Ever since I was a child, I have loved Christmas, and fortunately Bill does, too. Christmas cards, the most beautiful tree we can find hung with treasured ornaments, beloved carols, giving and receiving gifts, a church service, delectable food and drink, and gatherings of family and friends combine to make our “Clarke Christmas” a many-splendored event. Bah-humbuggers should not attempt it as it requires a huge amount of effort that is our gift to each other.
It gives me joy and a feeling of connection to unpack the boxes stored in the Christmas closet. We start by decorating our home with Christmas knickknacks and crafts, many of which were made and given to us by Vicki, friends or relatives. Every item evokes a memory. On the mantle there’s a charming snowman crafted by a Brown County artist. The artist made him a little dingy and disheveled, as if he is nearing the end of his time. He has a pipe in his mouth and holds a wreath and a bell. Friend Michelle tipped Bill off that I had fallen in love with him, and Bill drove back to Nashville the next day and bought him as an anniversary gift. There’s another snowman that Ann gave us.
Many years ago, Bill’s darling mother and I caught the bus downtown and had lunch at the Ayres Tea Room. We each bought a pair of salt and pepper shakers representing Santa and Mrs. Claus in their rocking chairs. They are there, along with statuettes of French Christmas figures given to us by Bill and Jean. After arranging the mantle, I set out on the organ the manger scene that my parents gave me for Christmas when I was twelve years old.
And then I had to quit. I had been ill for several weeks and was too sick to hang our collection of cherished ornaments on what I believe is the most beautiful tall and perfectly shaped tree that Bill has found. Bill did it.
I became sicker and sicker, and my family doctor recommended a gastroenterologist. The earliest appointment that I could get was January 5. Bill suggested that I pack a few things and go to the emergency room. Fortunately, I listened to him. He saved my life.
Would you believe that miraculously three gastroenterologists showed up after I was admitted? I spent ten days in the hospital. I had C. Diff, a particularly nasty and highly infectious type of colitis that results from too many antibiotics. Bill, Vicki and all of the hospital personnel had to wear gowns and gloves and scrub their hands with soap and water to avoid contamination.
I have never been so ill. I felt adrift being away from my husband of 52 years who has become a part of my very being. My mind was shutting down: I was too sick to read, watch TV or write. Other than Christmas day, writing every day keeps me grounded. I lost part of my sense of self when I was unable to write.
I’d take my mind off my misery by singing Christmas carols. I sobbed when I sang “I’ll be home for Christmas” because I was afraid I wouldn’t be home for Christmas, if at all.
I was very fortunate that I had superb nursing care and a Doctor of Internal Medicine who knew how to treat me. I arrived home on Tuesday and spent Wednesday gazing at our glorious tree and listening to carols. As it should be when we grow old, there was a changing of the guard. With Bill’s help, Vicki took over the baking and the Christmas feast.
Over and over, I count my blessings, and the word “home” has taken on a new depth of meaning for me. wclarke@comcast.net