I do not believe that I am like Ebenezer Scrooge in his greed, nor do I believe Christmas a bah humbug; however, like Scrooge, I am haunted by the ghost of Christmas past, the ghost of Christmas present, and the ghost of Christmas future.
I have several fond memories of Christmases past, and I know, like Scrooge, the stories of Christmases past have taken part in shaping Christmas present, and Christmas present will take part in shaping Christmas future.
I have fond memories of Christmases past, my last post was such a story. One story, that I have thought about, often this week, occurred on Christmas morning 1976.
My father was a Dallas firefighter-paramedic. While growing up in his household, I occasionally spent the night with him at the fire station. Christmas Eve 1976 was such an occasion.
I don’t remember this particular instance at the fire station; however, I do know, when I spent the day with him, at the fire station, the men included me in the daily chores. In the apparatus room, I could look, but not touch, nor climb on the engines. I was not allowed to go on a run, but would stay at the fire station alone while the men were called out on a run.
I would spend the night on a bunk, just like the men, but with instructions to stay in bed if they went out on a run.
I remember riding home with my father, in his big green Ford van, coming to the place were Audelia Rd and Skillman St come together, just south of LBJ freeway. Why is this part of my memory and why is this memory so vivid? I do not know, but I do know that it was Christmas morning 1976 and we were on our way home together.
We arrived at my boyhood home in Garland, Texas. My brother and sister were not allowed to leave there rooms until we arrived. Santa Clause had come, he had neatly placed toys in three groups.
I do not remember the other toys in my group, but I do remember an ambulance, equipped with paramedics and a stretcher. My younger brother received a fire truck, that had a raisable bucket, that could be attached to a water hose, and spew water to put out large structure fires, although, of course, on miniature scale.
My father is no longer with us, he died on February 16, 2014, from Parkinson's and Lewy bodies dementia.
My family spent Christmas together, for the last time, on December 24, 2013, my brother and his family, my sister and her family, and I with my family gathered at our parents home in Whitehouse, Texas. They had just moved into that home a few months prior. My mother wanted to move closer to us, that she might reach out when she needed help.
It was my father’s dream, to retire, and live on property, with acreage in East Texas. He did just that, he called it his farm with a yellow house, but in a short time, after retiring from the Dallas Fire department, his neurological health began to rapidly decline. The home of his dreams was taken away from him, and he was forced to move into a home of my mothers choosing.
He saw many apportions, things, people and situations that were not there. He had a difficult time distinguishing reality apart from the things that his deteriorating brain was causing him to see and hear. My mother wanted a break from his continues care, so the hospice nurse offered respite at home place; however, this led to his placement in a nursing home in which he died.
My father knew that the ambulance drivers had come to take him away and he did not want to go. My mother asked that I be there to aide, he would often listen to me; however, I could not talk him into a short visit away from the home.
Somehow we got him up out of the bed, onto his feet, when his hips were near the stretcher, I forced them down. The last words that I heard my father say to me were on Christmas Day, 2013, “If I did not love you so much, I would bust you in the head.” The memories of that day have haunted me every Christmas since.
Christmas, like all of life, is not all sunshine and rainbows. However, Christmas, for whatever reason, tends to intensify memories, unlike any other time of year. May you be merry this Christmas and love your neighbor as yourself.
