It is somewhat ironic that I was really, really depressed yesterday, and the day before, given the fact that celebrating the birth of Jesus is an act that glorifies hope (even to us secular people). Hope is central to Christianity. My grandmother was supposed to spend Christmas with us this year, and I was prepared to drive 2 hours to Beaumont to pick her up and bring her back. She's a widow and at 84 doesn't trust herself enough to drive. So my mom and I waited all Tuesday for her to call us after her doctor's appointment. Come 6:00, the phone rings, and it's my great-uncle, calling to tell us my grandmother is in the hospital. In fact she had been there all day, but my great-uncle is a bloody lush, and forgot to call my mother.
I didn't sleep very well on Christmas eve, but I stayed in bed until 2:00. I came downstairs and I could tell I was on the verge of mental collapse. Not only was I suffering from the usual relationship blues, I was in tremendous pain over my grandmother, who is very near death. I ate a sandwich and sat in the kitchen with a blank expression, and then my dad came by, patted me on the back, and gave me the usual "Perk Up" talk. I lost it. I instantly started bawling. I ran outside and could not stop crying. My dad came out and asked me what was up. I was hesitant but I told him I was really depressed because of my grandmother. He understood, but reminded me that it was my mother's mother, and it is just as hard on her, if not worse. He left and I just wept for a long time. I calmed down and was able to function normally later that evening.
Christmas found me awake at 8:30, a half hour later than I told my sister I would sleep. We went downstairs and I got a huge suprise, the only upside to this damned holiday. It was this:
After we had opened the gifts, I felt sick and dizzy, and my mom told me to go upstairs and rest. And I did. Until 4:00. I was okay after that. Never great. The guitar made me semi happy. I should have been more thankful for it. It wasn't cheap. I changed the strings on it, which was much more time consuming than I had estimated. And pressing down two strings was also more of a challenge. But I loved it. It was like Christmas with Roger McGuinn in the house.
Today mom left to go see Granny and tell her that she's dying and cannot live alone anymore. Her sister, a RN, is there too. We're hoping she'll go and live with my aunt, but my grandmother is attached to her house, the only world she has known for sixty years. And she can't let go of Pappy either. He's still there, just about a quarter mile away, under an old oak tree. He's about 30 feet away from my baby brother Graham, who has been there since 1978. Pap used to watch over Graham's grave; he used to put little crosses he made out of iron pipe around his tombstone. That's a vivid memory of mine. Standing alongside Pap as he thrust a small metal crucifix into the earth and said a prayer. Pious Catholic to the end.
I'm here with my dad and sister, who's never here. I cleaned the kitchen, played with my new toy, and watched the Charlton v. Chelsea match with my dad. It was a slaughter. Charlton took it 4-2. The first goal was made 40 seconds after the match began. A Boxing Day massacre.
We're going to the Museum of Fine Arts tomorrow to see the Heroic Century exhibit before it leaves. I just have to see "Starry Night," in person, not in print. Then off to Borders to browse for music and books. I leave for the University soon, so I need to buy some leisure materials to bring with me.
Sorry I haven't kept up the captions for the last week. I know I'm not the only one who does them, but I like to think I'm somewhat prolific and noticable.
Merry Christmas (and a happy Boxing Day, especially to any Chelsea fans)
Neil
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