Christmas 1988.

Tonight I found some old home videos and I watched one titled Christmas 1988. My mom’s last Christmas with us. 

The video started with my grandma (my mom’s mom) filming the scene around her home, in anticipation of all of the family coming over soon. She narrates her way around stacks of wrapped presents, food in the kitchen, decorations hung on the walls, and the colorfully decorated tree crammed into the living room. There is barely room to walk, and I can feel her excitement to see her daughters come over soon with all of the grandbabies.

Later in the video, I watch my family come through the front door. We are the last to arrive. My mom, carrying my newborn sister all bundled up in a fluffy bunting, and with the other hand, guiding little me through the chaos of the living room. My dad, taking everyone’s coats to hang up and carrying the gifts that we brought.

I watch my little self in a big Christmas dress, opening my first gift – a duck that walks and quacks. I still remember getting that duck and taking it down the hallway to play with that morning. I watch as my grandma and dad are coaxing me to open the rest of my gifts, even just one more, and joking together about how I’m too hung up on the little duck. I listen to my mom’s voice calling for me to come back to the living room and laughing when I keep running back to the duck. She eventually joins my dad on the living room floor to try to convince me to open another gift, and I realize I have no memories of seeing my parents interacting together. It feels so weird to see my dad with my mom, happy, normal. The camera quickly pans over our little family – me on the floor with my parents and my baby sister sleeping in the arms of a great grandpa in the recliner. This was our only Christmas as a family of four.

I keep watching, just to see her. My mom, opening her gifts from her own mom, sitting next to her sister on the couch, talking to her little niece and nephew who keep calling her “Aunt Shelly.” Smiling, joking, laughing. Holding up new sweaters and picture frames for the wall, and my grandma behind the camera talking about how she remembered them saying that they liked those things at the store. You can feel the love in the room and sense the closeness of the relationships. My mom and my aunt are chatting away in the background of the whole video, the best of friends.

It is not lost on me how in the moment everyone is. No one has phones or tablets in their hands… the TV is off… just a group of people genuinely enjoying spending time together and being present with one another.

The scene feels so happy, so normal. It looks like the perfect Christmas morning. Everyone just enjoying time together as a family, unaware of the heartbreak to follow in the year ahead. I wonder if she knew. I think her cancer would have been back by then. Did the thought cross anyone’s mind that this might be her last Christmas with her family?

As a mom, the scene feels all too familiar to me now. I see myself in her, in the way that we mother. I sound like her. I see myself picking my own little girl up and talking to her in the same way. I see myself sitting on the living room floor and helping my kids open their gifts. I see myself as a daughter (in law), opening gifts from the proud grandma so excited to have all of her kids under the same roof again. I see myself hauling small children around, getting them dressed in their cute outfits for Christmas, sitting back on the couch to joke around with my most loved family members. I see myself enjoying the chaos with my husband even though we’re both obviously exhausted from life with two little kids.

I see myself, and I know how much she must have loved it – how much she must have loved us. I can see it in the way she talks, the way she moves, the way she looks at us. I can feel it because it’s how I feel about my own family now.

I think about how I’m watching her last Christmas. What a perfectly imperfect, messy, love-filled Christmas morning it appeared to be. I grieve that she didn’t get to spend more Christmas mornings with us, with her sister, with her own parents. And yet, I’m thankful for the gift of this video. I’m thankful that somehow, this exact video ended up in my possession, one of the very few mementos I have from my childhood. I’m thankful that somehow, my grandma managed to capture this moment in time that I can’t remember but now get to watch on the screen and feel like I’m there again. I’m thankful for the time that she was my mother and for instilling that foundation of love in me. I’m thankful for the example of her life and for the lessons to take away from knowing it was cut so short.

As a mom, I know I need to be present with my family. I know the importance of taking photos and videos that they’ll be able to remember this time in our lives through. I know that even though they’re young, I can start laying a foundation now, showing them unconditional love and always pointing them back to Jesus. I know that no matter where life will take our family, that foundation matters… and I want it to be a foundation that holds strong through anything that life will bring us.

I want to spend every Christmas like it could be the last one, because we truly never know when the lasts will come. I want to live every day of my life with that eternity mindset, not in a fearful or morbid way, but with the knowledge that what I do with each day matters. It’s only for God to know how many days my life will be, and I am at peace with that. I pray that I recognize the significance of the little moments and how they can impact others for a lifetime. I pray that God will use me to build relationships during my time here on earth that will be a reflection of His love and will have a kingdom impact. I’m thankful for this life, for this family, for my beautiful children who have filled my life with so much joy. And this Christmas, I’m going to make an extra effort to set aside the distractions and focus on what really matters – being present with the people who God has placed in my life.