Chaplain's Corner

As I think about the holidays, perhaps one of the most precious things about them is the memories. This past week was my 64th Christmas and I have accumulated many memories over the years of Christmases past.

I remember Christmas 1959. I was living in Hatfield, Pennsylvania in a bungalow at 910 Dogwood Lane. I don’t remember much, but I do remember that both my older brother and I received a pair of boxing gloves. Christmas afternoon Lester (my older brother), Dad and I played with those gloves. Not boxing, but throwing the gloves at each other. It was wonderful. By the end of the afternoon we all had headaches, Mom had a broken picture that once hung at the end of the hallway or was it a lamp? We were exhausted.

I remember Christmas Eve 1962. Our family lived in York Haven, Pennsylvania. Our Pastor (also a social worker with Child Protection) gave my folks a call and asked if he could place a brother and sister with us for the holidays. Before we went to bed that night Donna and David were brought to our house. Donna was one and David was two or three. After we went to bed Mom and Dad must have retagged a few of the gifts for the next morning there were gifts for everyone. Abused, abandoned and scared it took a while for Donna and David to feel safe in our family. The “over the holiday” placement lasted five years. Mom and Dad wanted to adopt them, but their mother who saw them only once a year under supervision wouldn’t allow it. They would spend 5 Christmases with us then one summer day they were taken away. I still wonder what ever became of Donna and David.

I remember Christmas 2001, our oldest son, Andy, had married the summer before and as I opened one box I found a baby’s bib that said, “I love my Grandpa”. Their way of announcing that our first grandchild would be arriving in June 2002. That grandson, Isaiah, turned 15 this past summer.

I’m sure if I worked at it I could remember a few more Christmas memories, but for the most part, those annual days of worship, gift giving, family feasts and fun have become blurred in my mind. Most of my work is with frail elderly people, dear folks, many of whom have been diagnosed with one form or another of dementia. As we talk together, their memories, those who still have some, generally go way back to a time when a Christmas orange and a few candies and maybe, if it was a good year on the farm, a toy, just one, would be received.

I watch as husbands and wives, children and grandchildren come and go during the season and often see blank and confused looks in the eyes of our residents. The efforts of children, grandchildren to stir some recognition are often futile, the excited great-grandchildren are sometimes curious and other times disturbing to the resident. All the excitement of the Christmas visit is confusing and overwhelming for, to the resident, these people are strangers and all the attention is strange.

I often ponder the possibility that one day, I may be the elderly man, sitting in a wheelchair, unable to comprehend anything about Christmas. One day the carols may be just noise. The decorations, more for the workers and a few of the residents who can still remember but no longer holding any significance to me. I wonder if I might be the one receiving “strange visitors”, family I have forgotten who confuse me with all their attention.

And I think – cherish the memories and share them for I may not always have them.