When you ask people about their holiday plans, the answer usually comes with the lead-in, “We always”: “We always go to midnight mass.” “We always host a big dinner.” “We always make latkes and enjoy them with our extended family.”
If you’re caring for someone who’s ill or aging, the words, “We always,” can bring on a lot of stress. Oftentimes, the traditions you’ve always upheld won’t be possible. Your mom won’t be able to make it to church, your dad won’t feel up to a big family dinner, or you won’t be able to host your annual party. “We always” can cast a dark cloud over the season if you end up not being able to do the things you always do.
I admit I struggled with this our last Christmas with my father-in-law. I went into the holidays and our trip to Florida expecting perfection—caroling and cheer on Christmas Eve, awe and wonder for our little boys on Christmas morning, a big homemade feast filled with laughter and long conversation, late nights reminiscing about past Christmases.
It didn’t quite shake out that way. When we arrived, my father-in-law’s health (both physical and mental) had deteriorated significantly since our last visit. Our kids—ages 3 and 1 at the time—were demanding at best. And we both had jobs that required emails and phone calls on Christmas Eve.
Our story isn’t unique. The holidays are stressful for everyone, especially if you’re trying to juggle the care of your loved one with the tasks you need to get done and the expectations of different generations. You may need to make a choice—either to futilely force the “We always” or enthusiastically embrace the “This year.” (“This year, we’re celebrating Christmas a day early with mom so she can see the kids open a few presents without all the chaos of Christmas morning.” “This year, we’re going to call Dad after dinner and make sure everyone in the family talks with him since he doesn’t feel up to joining us.” “This year, we’re going to the 4 p.m. mass instead of midnight so Mom can be there.”)
On our last Christmas with Dad, we passed over a lot of traditions. On Christmas Eve, we skipped the big party and instead watched a movie. Dinner was simple and unscheduled. Sometimes, Dad was with us, other times he opted to be alone, and much of the time—even while we opened presents Christmas morning—he was asleep. It wasn’t the magic-filled holiday I imagined, but our kids didn’t notice, Dad was included as much as he wanted to be, and we were all together.
That holiday was a great learning experience for me—not just as a family caregiver but as a person who can only do and control so much. Dad might get tired. Mom might not like a meal she’s always eaten. The kids might throw up, have earaches, or cry through dinner (in our family, they’ll likely do all three). The holidays most likely won’t be perfect, but accepting the imperfect will undoubtedly make them much less stressful for all.
