Christmas

This Christmas season has been one I will never forget.
I will probably not tell this story well. Nor will I do the actions and character of other's justice. I'm in a hurry. And the dogs are running around like crazy. And voices are being raised. Someone just asked the 100th question of the night... and I am tired.
But I need to do this.
So here it goes.
Christmas was going to be weird this year anyway. We had set ourselves up for that. Planning for Christmas morning without Dad in bed next to Mom.
I tried to weasle my way out of spending Christmas Eve night in Winchester.
I am not a good weasle.
We had made plans to go to Eastern Kentucky and maybe even Northern Kentucky the weekend before Christmas. Maternal grandparents. Curvy roads. Dark living rooms and cigarette smoke and lots of greasy food. I would be moving on the 15th of December. My car had just broken down (hitting the dashboard no longer worked its magic). Finals in the midst of it all.
And then on Sunday, December 9th, things got a little weirder.

Kat and I had just finished with Togethership. It was raining. We were wet, frustrated, having emptied my bank account on gas for a car that was not mine (a gas hog oldsmobile). So Kat and I had changed into comfortable clothes and we playing with Arthur in her basement when we got a phone call.
My mother had fallen at my grandparents house. Decided it was a good idea to suck up the pain, get in the car, and drive from Nicholasville Road to Todds Road with her left foot. But she would need our help getting from the car to the basement.
So we waited.
Surely she was overreacting. No.
She got to the house and her ankle was swollen like someone had slipped a softball under her sock. Abby freaked out. Olivia and Kat helped Mom down the stairs while I kept Henry (the puppy) from eating Arthur (the cat). We got the insurance card, made my mother calm down, put a call in to my dad, made Abby stop crying, argued with my mom some more, swapped car keys...
And we took my Mom to the ER.
A broken fibula. Cast for three months. No driving. Lots of drugs. Wheelchair for a while. Then a walking boot and crutches.
We could handle that.
We'd put my mom on some calcium, get her better tennis shoes (with more tread), and draw to our heart's content on her cast.
So we thought.
Until Thursday.
As Howard left my house I got a call from my sister. Mom's fallen.
"Mom?"
"I think you need to come to Winchester."
"You fell? How?"
"Using my crutches. I think it's broken."
"What is?"
"My wrist."
So I got in my car and drove to Winchester. On the way, I called Caleb. I need patience, I told him. I need grace. We talk a lot about grace. But how often do I act on it? How often do I show it? Now, with my mother completely incapacitated, could I be gracious? Patient? He prayed for me over the phone as I drove down US 60.
I came into the house on Long Avenue and my stomach hurt. Her wrist looked like a ping pong had risen under the skin. But I wouldn't take her to the ER again. Not again. So we put ice on it. And we sat in the living room and cried. And I played with her hair. And I made fun of her for not having any balance. And we dealt with the real issue...
I would later find out that it was Olivia who picked my mother up off the floor. Stooped down, put her forearms under my mother's shoulders and lifted her up off the floor. Fourteen years old, she was there to do what had to be done.
So on Friday I took Olivia and Mom to the doctor's. Found out her arm was broken. And would require surgery.
Saturday I moved into a new apartment. I moved Arthur in on Sunday. Found out on Monday that it only takes me 7 minutes to get to work.
And last night, I spent Christmas with my best family... seven of us, needing and wanting each other, eating cookies and opening stockings and watching Charlie Brown and listening to James Taylor and taking silly polaroids. I received one of the best Christmas gifts last night... wrapped in a yellow envelope. A ring pop.
All I want for Christmas?
I want to be like my little sisters. And I want to be the best woman I can be... loving with all my heart, opening up again.
And I want to see my dad.
Even as I say that, I feel the tears coming.
More than anything I'd love to wake up too early on Christmas morning and stare longingly at the clock and wait until a reasonable hour and run downstairs and tickle Dad's feet until he rolled over, licked his lips, and told us he'd be up in a minute. Instead of running to the Christmas tree, however, this time I would just curl up in bed beside him. Let him sleep. Because that would be enough.
He'd be there.
Presents would wait.