Missing joy

It was December 1989. Yes, Christmas month. My memory is hazy if she suffered a stroke that month. Perhaps. What is clear is that she wasn't going to be discharged before or even on December 25.

Imagine spending Christmas in the hospital. But spend Christmas Day in her hospital room we did. It must have been the holiday spirit that made hospital staff turn a blind eye to the roomful of family that didn't want to leave the aged matriarch alone on this day.

I'm thinking there must've been at least 20 people in that private room, which was spacious enough but every available space seemed to be occupied. The nurses who checked in regularly had to say "excuse me" every time they came in and made their way to my Lola's (grandmother) bed.

Yes, it was probably a shock when they finally realized that the number of people inside that room kept multiplying. Then again, it was Christmas. How can you shoo away family when they obviously stabilized the patient, who was paralyzed and unable to speak?

See, my grandmother had this tradition for her family - she had four sons and their young families, and an unmarried daughter and son- to gather together on Christmas Day and ever since I can remember this was something we had been doing every year without fail.

By this time, my grandfather had passed several years already but it was an event Lola looked forward to. It wasn't as if we didn't see each other regularly because two of her sons and their families lived in the same compound, while the other two were in the same city, which was just about half-an-hour's drive away.

Still, the Christmas get-together was special, especially the exchange gift part. As we kids grew older, the mechanics was to secretly choose one from the whole clan to give a gift to on Christmas Day. This often turned out to be hilarious because the jokers and pranksters among us would end up giving silly gifts.

There was even a song that we used to sing while hunting for the secret recipient.

"Love my monito, yes I do... Love my monito, yes I do... Love my monito but I won't tell who!"

One person usually starts the gift-giving session, with everyone seated in a circle as the giver goes around and identifies the person he or she picked and everyone singing loudly. Once the recipient has been identified, the two of them go around the circle again to search for the next recipient until everyone has had their turn to get their gift.

Other than a minimum price for the gift, there were no categories as to the kind you could give, which is why it can turn out to be rather silly. At the end of the Monito round, we were all supposed to wear or use whatever we got as gifts and had a grand picture-taking session. Lucky for those who got stuff that actually fit or could be used because always, there were those who got outrageous gifts, which made for the laughs.

Unfortunately, since we were in a hospital with our grandmother, we had to skip the gift-giving session that year. We just brought food, played games while trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the rest of the floor. Of course, many times we would get loud and be shushed!

We ended up telling stories instead and I do recall the younger ones eventually sprawling on the floor to sleep as the night wore on. I think since we had settled down, the nurses didn't have the heart to throw us out that night. We did end up leaving after midnight and by then Lola was already fast asleep, a faint smile on her lips.

Spending Christmas in a hospital room, however you try to make merry, is still heart wrenching. But you simply have to be grateful to even be given that chance to be with family and loved ones on a day that is supposed to be about love and family.

When Dad had to be rushed back to the hospital two weeks after being discharged, I pleaded with doctors to at least discharge us on Christmas Day. We did share Christmas Eve dinner inside a cramped room, but it was just immediate family and the caregiver.

By God's grace, we were able to leave for home around 6 PM of Christmas Day. And like I related in a previous post, the whole family was present to welcome Dad back, to what would be his last Christmas before he finally succumbed three months later.

Truthfully, it is a hazy memory which I would consider my best or most memorable Christmas. And that makes me sad.

Perhaps the loss of my sister and father not a year apart is clouding my judgement or memory. But I do recall the laughter during those exchange gift sessions. And I guess I have to hold on to those memories, however long ago and fleeting.

I have one prayer for this Christmas... that I may find joy again, that my heart will be filled with true joy, not just because it is the season but for what it represents.

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