A Wish

Sometimes the best Christmas wish is one you can wish for someone else, even if it could only be a wish. The undeniable realization of mortality has unfortunately knocked on the door of someone I love and they are currently dealing with the loss of someone before their soul and body have even parted this earth.

My wish is for my sister and that she will be able to always remember her grandmother the way she was when my sister was growing up, instead of the way she is now. Recently Grandma Gloria was diagnosed with dementia and my sister Tosha is watching the strong independent woman who raised her slip away right before of her eyes.

Grandma Gloria is Tosha's paternal grandmother. Gloria, along with Tosha's maternal grandmother Pat, raised Tosha for most of her life. They are the ones to give credit to for Tosha becoming an intelligent, strong willed and wise person.

Growing up, I remember every year one of the things Tosha treasured most at Christmas was a package she received in the mail from Grandma Gloria. It was their tradition, it was their special connection. It was Tosha's childhood stocking. The stocking itself seemed to be pieced together from ancient fabrics, almost as if it was made from a family quilt, tattered at the edges but still thick, warm and comforting. It was always filled to the brim with precious treasures individually wrapped. There were perfume scented soaps and foil wrapped chocolates. Most of all the sock was filled to the brim with thoughtfulness and love.

Grandma Gloria was diagnosed with semantic dementia this fall and her mind has been slipping as fast as it seems the color of the leaves are changing. This particular condition is caused by atrophy of the front temporal lobe of the brain. Those affected by it have a difficult time with the meaning of words. They get mixed up. For example, Grandma Gloria told her great grand daughter she would get her some water for her cereal and she also couldn't figure out what Italian salad dressing was. As the condition worsens so does the symptoms. Soon Grandma Gloria won't be able to look of a picture of a dog and know that is in fact a dog.

It is said that after being diagnosed patients are given five to ten years left of their life, it is estimated that Grandma Gloria has had semantic dementia for about five years already. And as if this wasn't enough for a family to endure Grandma Gloria was also diagnosed with multiple myeloma which is cancer of the white blood cells. Because Grandma Gloria's body is failing her the family is trying to get her into a nursing home as soon as possible. Unfortunately soon she will be unable to care for herself and could possibly become a danger to herself and others.

It is a sad state of affairs this Christmas season. I would not wish on my worst enemy to have to watch someone they love hopelessly deteriorate before their eyes, let alone my best friend in the world.

Me and my sister are not related by blood but we adopted each other into our respected families over 15 years ago. She is the one who is trusted above all in my life, my oracle, my confidant. She is the one person who doesn't tell me what I want to hear but instead what I need to hear. So Tosha, this is my Christmas wish to you. I wish you the strength and the courage (that I already know you have) to face this mountain you are climbing. I wish that you will always remember your grandmother as the woman she was to you growing up like taking you bungee jumping in Lake Tahoe when you were only a teenager and making sure to always send you your stocking every Christmas. And if you want, if it would help, you could send me your stocking and every year I will make sure it is filled with just as much love and consideration as Grandma Gloria would have and she could live on in your tradition. Until the day I die sister, I love you.

Leftovers

The sun still hasn't risen the day after Thanksgiving. During the night wind blew in fresh rain over the foothills in Grass Valley, Calif. The house was quiet; the faint ticking of the clock in the living room and my daughter breathing heavily next to me was the only noises to be heard.

Except for the rumbling in my stomach.

It's 4:30 in the morning and all I could think about was FOOD. I was mentally beating myself up for not accepting leftovers my cousin offered to us over and over again. The first taste that teased my memory was my cousins raspberry tart which had me sweetly and sourly tossing and turning. Then I began trying to recreate the familiar yet special taste of turkey smothered with cranberry sauce and the battling flavors of the cornbread stuffing and the traditional stuffing. Then I remembered that right next to the stuffing on my plate was the green bean casserole. This is when I decided I had to suppress these cravings and try and get back to sleep.

There was no reason my body should require nourishment. I had plenty to eat the night before including dessert and my fair share of adult beverages. When I fell asleep I was fat and happy.

I reassured myself that we had set plans to meet some cousins for breakfast fairly early and my stomach could wait till then.

The household woke up and we headed to breakfast. Two cups of coffee, a bloody mary, and half of my plate of corned beef and hash had my stomach full, but it was still not satisfied. We said our goodbyes to our beloved family and started the drive down the hill back to Sacramento. It was then the realization that I might not have the privilege of savoring Thanksgiving leftovers hit me and I became sad. Almost as if I was trying to subdue a sudden feeling of panic I reminded myself the situation was out of my control and I shouldn't let a craving spoil a fun night planned out with friends.

So that's what I did, had a great time at a concert in San Francisco with some of my favorite musical misfits. The music and the fun had taken my mind off of the depressing fantasy of a "to-go" Thanksgiving. It wasn't until the next morning when we began to stir and speak of plans for the day that my friend mentioned something about leftovers up at his house.

My heart skipped a beat. I tried to control my excitement for fear of seeming to anxious and deflecting an invitation. Finally after hours we all set course for destination Colfax, Calif. The California foothills seems to be the place where all the leftovers were hiding.

Our hosts were gracious and generous. Before I knew it the table was filled with their Thanksgiving leftovers. The homemade cranberry sauce zapped me back to my dinner two nights before when I explained to my Uncle Carlos, visiting from Alaska, that cranberry sauce might be my favorite. The yams were the best I ever tasted (and I don't even like yams), not candied but still sweet with brown sugar. Then I remembered from my previous dinner the great yams vs sweet potatoes debate with my cousin and her husband. The mystery casserole was brought over by one of my hosts uncles; no body sitting around the table cared we didn't know what was in it because it was good. The main course of our leftover dinner wasn't the pickings from a turkey carcass but instead a bowl filled with fresh cracked crab. While I worked through the crab shells to reap the rewards of succulent, melt in my mouth crab meat I thought of my father who was in Europe exploring and having the time of his life during the holiday. And finally to top off a perfect dinner we feasted on pecan pie; the pecans melted in my mouth. This experience reminded me of my Aunt Landa's pecan/pumpkin pie and her story of having to make a new one for Thanksgiving because they ate the original the night before!

It wasn't until I began writing this that I became aware that the feeling of hunger I woke up with at 4:30 in the morning wasn't just a hunger for food. It was the sensation of the taste that takes me to memories of the people I love and how important it is to make new memories. The reward of our leftover dinner made me thankful of my family and friends who make my life so flavorful. However, another important lesson was learned; never deny offered leftovers, I might need them sooner than thought.