Making Memories

The Holiday Season affords each of us an opportunity to make a memory for someone else. This time of year, like no other, brings to mind reflections of the past. Reminders are all around us. It happens to me.

The sights and sounds are unavoidable. Childhood replays itself as we see little ones all around us. I can't help but wonder how their memories will compare to mine.

Christmas can bring back the joys of long ago or force us to wallow in sadness. Even some of the songs can make one happy or sad, depending on your point of view. It's like all the years of our lives come back to haunt us. Reflection can be painful when you feel like things are getting worse instead of better.

Whether we like it or not, this year will be remembered. But how?

Not for the gifts. Few of us recall the packages we've unwrapped year after year. But we do remember the time we spend with other people. When times were good or bad. I remember the look on their faces.

So many people feel lonely or sad this time of year. Like nobody cares. Like their lives do not matter. Another year has come and gone, with no achievement. Nothing to feel good about.

When we're out and about, I see the sad faces in stores. Trying to buy gifts they cannot afford. You can just tell it's a struggle. Christmas is like a burden thrust upon them by all the retailers. Expectations they cannot meet. And yet they try, not for themselves but someone else. Little ones at home not yet burdened by realities that weigh us all down.

It would too easy for me to mark this year as my first with Diabetes. I don't want to do that. I don't want to spend every minute feeling blue -- because it won't do any good. For years, my wife and I have said, "It's not about us. It's about them (meaning the kids). But it occurs to me now, the meaning should be broader than that. Really, it's all about others.

My uncle just broke his hip falling at home. Retired, he lives alone. In the past few years, he lost his wife and one son. Even his son's dog. He has one daughter who still lives here. Another son is in Florida.

After surgery he'll be in hospital rehab. Probably for several months. It's got to make him feel sad. We're planning to visit. I keep thinking no one wants to be there -- especially this time of year.

I've always liked Uncle Jerry. He's a man of few words, with a dry sense of humor. A 'down to earth' sort of guy. Hard working, he stayed at GM for years beyond retirement age, because he could not yet afford it. Financial burdens gave him no other choice. But he never complained. He came to our 4th of July gathering each year and put on a smile, in spite of his pain.

Once, when we were kids, still living in Cleveland, my brother and I had a sleepover at Jerry's apartment. I can't recall exactly when or why. He was a bachelor. No wife. No kids. We ate poptarts for breakfast. But we had fun. It's a memory I cherish to this day -- thanks to him.

When my mom got sick two years ago, we did not expect her to die. She went for radiation and chemo and even got better for a while. The last time I saw her at Christmas, it was the best she'd looked in years. She had color in her face, fixed her hair and seemed to be on the mend. A few months later, she got worse all over again, and never recovered.

My Uncle Jerry is mom's brother. I'm afraid what this may do to him. He's had trouble walking the past few years. He doesn't like to drive much because he's not good with directions.

I don't want this Christmas to be his last, feeling sad in the hospital. And I certainly don't plan to be thinking about myself. Diabetes is minor compared to his sorrows.

We're going to visit. Today after work, if possible. I'm not sure exactly what to say. But I know he'll be glad to see us. Hospitals can be so lonely and sad. We've got to brighten his spirits. Make him feel like he matters. That we care.

Maybe at least, I can help make a memory for him -- one that brings a smile.