by Tom Christian

I finally got around to taking the Christmas decorations down yesterday. Over the last few years, my decorating efforts have been minimal at best. My wife, Grace, has long since lost understanding of the season, and the kids are grown and gone, so I’ll admit it seemed pointless. But this year I decided to try to recreate some holiday spirit for Grace, not realizing the impact it would have on me.

Grace always loved Christmas. Every year, on the day after Thanksgiving, she would begin the massive holiday makeover of our house and yard. But by Christmas 2013, subtle changes had begun to set in. That year, Grace didn’t seem aware that the season was upon us, and she seemed less interested in the usual merrymaking. Normally she’d have drafted her annual holiday to-do list weeks in advance, but not that year.

It wasn’t until her FTD diagnosis on December 27, 2014 that the changes in Grace’s disposition began to make sense. Ever since that day, there has been a shadow over the season, and I have found it difficult to muster enthusiasm for the trappings and traditions of Christmas.

Over the years, Grace amassed an impressive collection of Christmas ornaments – always stocking up at steep discounts during the post-holiday sales. We easily have enough decorations to adorn five trees, and eventually I’ll cull down our collection. But there are five ornaments that hold special significance for me. In the early days of her FTD journey, Grace and I spent time browsing antique shops, and these ornaments – silver and crystal with faux-pearl inlays – instantly caught her eye. We bought all of the store’s remaining pieces, and packed them away in anticipation of the holidays. Sadly, by the time Christmas came around, Grace was barely aware of what day of the week it was, let alone the significance of the season.

Since then, Grace’s condition has steadily declined, and each Christmas I wonder if it will be her last. This year, I decided to make Christmas memorable, even if it was mostly for me. I put up the tree and hung those five ornaments prominently. As I looked at the ornaments, I was transported back to that spring morning when we found them. In that moment, it occurred to me that FTD had not just stolen Grace’s memory – I had also allowed it to rob me of mine. I had stopped remembering the joy we shared in better times. Much like our Christmas ornaments, I had boxed up the happy memories and stored them out of sight. Although unboxing those memories was bittersweet, doing so made it possible to truly enjoy what may be our last Christmas together.

This year taught me the value of continuing to celebrate the holidays, even while navigating sadness and loss. I’ll carry on the tradition of decorating in Grace’s honor, and every year that she is still with me, I’ll remind her of that special spring day when we found those five treasured ornaments.