I’m adding a new tradition to my Christmas routine. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure out this should have been a decades long thing but better late than never. It’s a song, and in a bit (it will be included in this post) I’ll take it in, and to heart in memory of my mom. You get the sentiment from the headline of this article, but I ask you to indulge me as I explain what’s going on in my head and my heart as I begin writing this.
Well, it’s about 2:30pm where I live. Folks, at least in my time zone are well into their day. Christmas Eve activities turned to Christmas morning. People have or are going about visiting friends and relatives. Gifts have been exchanged. Feasts have been consumed. Many of us could use a long afternoon nap. Others have things to do, whether watching pro sports on TV (what’s with the NFL hiding the games on Netflix?) or other traditions like one of mine which is watching the movie The Crossing. It’s a wonderful period piece about Washington crossing the Delaware River and the attack on Trenton that saved our Revolution. (Hence the connection between politics and Christmas for a political blog). It was after all a Christmas attack, so this seems the perfect day to watch it. This year, I’m adding a new tradition before watching The Crossing.
For those who haven’t followed me much over the years, whether back on DK or here on Politizoom I’m agnostic but still celebrate Christmas. I love the hope the season represents. Each year we are reminded of family and friends and our larger community. Even if the generosity of spirit doesn’t last at least it’s there for a while. And sometimes, as the Frank Cross character in the movie Scrooged tells us (watching that movie is the last thing I do on Christmas Eve) you can “get greedy” for that feeling and want it every day of the year. Sometimes, for some people that DOES happen.
I also celebrate Christmas to honor the memory of my mother. It’s been almost fifty years now since she died around 1pm on Christmas Day, 1975. Mom LOVED Christmas. She was quite frankly a freak about it. Not just gifts but baking (often for so many others) for which she had a particular gift. (Including “stollen” – lot’s of folks would hint to her they’d sure like one!) Back then a diagnosis of lung cancer usually meant someone would be dead in a matter of months. So it was with mom. When she went into the hospital that last time we knew in our hearts she wouldn’t be coming home again. In the last week, and those last few days in particular she fought like hell to make it to Christmas.
It was an epic “white Christmas” that year and as late as mid morning she grunted responses a couple of times to us describing how much snow was falling. But by late morning the only sound was her laboring to take another breath. The breaks in between grew longer and longer, until it was clear she’d taken in her last. Bear in mind this was 1975, and my town of 10k had a small, 60 or so bed hospital. It was pretty nice by small town standards, less than twenty years old.
Somehow street crews managed to keep the main roads (east and west, as well as the main north and south route) in town clear. We’d also learn the workers made a couple of runs down the street we lived on which tells you something about how my mom was regarded. Word was out so to speak. Once Bill got to the hospital to take her to the funeral home we said our goodbyes in the room and made our way to the elevator. There were only two floors but even though those elevators were slower than the second coming of Christ, we waited.
Now again, this was 1975 back when men didn’t take part in deliveries. Even doctors were barely tolerated in the maternity ward. There was a door in the wall, and as you turned to your right the small nursery where anyone could see newborns in cribs. Next was the waiting room and turning right in that large lobby a wide entrance to the nurses station and the patient rooms. Turning the last right were two elevators and the stairs.
So, there we all were, my family and some close friends barely able to see through our tears waiting on the elevator. Suddenly, to our right the door to the Maternity Ward opened and a young woman (couldn’t have been much older than me) emerged and handed over her newborn baby to dad and the grandparents! I was struck even in the moment about the symmetry. While my mom was dying in her room, elsewhere in the hospital a woman had been in labor and bringing a new life into the world.
Two family’s lives changed forever that morning and it came full circle as literally we said goodbye to a loved one and another family welcomed their newest member! I’d come to appreciate the symmetry of it all, and the eternal cycle of life, and death and then life again. It is the way of things. All living things die. New living things come along to replace them. That’s as true of human beings as well as any other living thing.
It’s now about three pm and back in 1975 we all were back home. We came home to find a table full of food people had dropped off for us. No one locked their doors back there in those days. We made plates and half-heartedly ate. Then, while none of us really wanted to we opened our presents. Mom wouldn’t have had it any other way. And the day went on. That particular day it was a string of visitors who managed to get to our house despite the snow on their own streets. And a snowball fight in the evening which I joined, much to my dad’s dismay. But again, I think mom would have wanted me out there mixing it up with those who started it who were dear friends and felt the need for some levity.
My mom was a fan of the group Blood, Sweat & Tears. I liked quite a few of their songs myself (NOT Spinning Wheel!) and she loved the tune And When I Die. It always struck a chord with me too. Often in these past almost fifty years when I think of her I think of that song. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long but I’ve realized I’ve missed adding something to my Christmas Day routine. Playing a video of And When I Die, with that compelling lyric:
“And when I’m dead, dead and gone… There’ll be one child born… In a world to carry on, Carry on.”
Just as I experienced in real death and life. The death of my favorite person, as a new child was being introduced into a different family’s world. So when people ask how, given my mom died on Christmas I can celebrate, I hope I’ve given you a glimpse into why:
Time to ‘carry on” with my Christmas Day. The Crossing is cued up in my DVD player and after I wipe away some tears and get something to drink I’ll enjoy the rest of the day. I hope everyone reading is having a Happy Christmas, and will go on to have a safe and Happy New Year. As in New Year’s Eve. We will have lots of work to do once the new year begins. So let’s let the hope of Christmas fuel us as we undertake the massive job ahead of us.
I remember and also love that song. Thank you so much for sharing this.
Just the mention of the band Blood Sweat and Tears definitely brings back memories. Thank you for sharing yours.
Just a note, but you might want to thank Laura Nyro who wrote the song (she did so while just a teenager).
She had a distinctive and wonderful voice – a terrific performer in her own right. Yet this isn’t her only song that was made famous by another group/artist. I’ve heard her rendition(s) and like most prefer the “take” on this song that I included here. Look, Kris Kristofferson wrote Bobbie McGee but Janis Joplin made it an epic classic and he seldom gets credited. Same with Mr. Bojangles – it was the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band that immortalized it.
And, just to nitpick back if you paid close attention during a musical interlude BWT’s lead singer DID credit Laura with giving them the song, and he mentioned several others she suggested to him!
A pretty powerful piece, Dennis. No better tribute to your Mother. We should never forget ot lose hope.