Everyone anticipated the staff Christmas party.
Every year, staff gathered from all shifts in the auditorium. The event was catered so that kitchen staff could enjoy as well, and long tables were heaped with delicious goodies of all kinds. A Photo Booth, staff presentations, door prizes to drool over and lots of them, and carol singing. Some staff would bring fancy clothes to change into, and the room buzzed with camaraderie and fun.
I’m not a party girl.
I went a few times, but when I became an advocate, I elected to stay on the floor and answer call bells (and pray one of them wasn’t a bathroom emergency!) I’m no saint or martyr, but our care partners knew how to party and had such a blast. Watching their glowing faces when they returned with their door prize loot gave me more pleasure than the party itself.
I missed the party, but not the party experience. For me, the “party” was watching their fun.
I am one week post hip replacement surgery. The experience has NOT been a party! However, in the midst of this “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” experience, there were party moments.
- My first food after surgery, which was chicken broth and tasted like the nectar of the gods.
- The moment (after several minutes of panic) when we were able to get my legs in the car without bending them.
- The first time climbing the steps to our second floor, when I realized it wasn’t any more difficult than before surgery.
- The day I decided I needed a pair of tights with my dress, and the hilarious efforts of my husband to get them on me.
Care partners go through many difficult days. They wonder where to find the resources and energy to keep going. While trying to figure out the solution to this problem or that, they think fearful thoughts about the future, and complete the daily tasks which never end. It’s definitely not a party.
But there are party moments. Special times where something happens which warms and touches you, makes you laugh or cry happy tears. Party moments occur in the midst of the drudgery, the painful decisions and the exhaustion. Party moments happen in daily life, when something turns regular life into a party.
My mom was approaching mid-stage Alzheimer’s and it changed her personality from strong and confident to vulnerable and unsure. My dad often didn’t know how to cope. One summer day, he needed to be out of the house, and they were expecting a delivery of a tree from the local nursery. He knew they would deliver and leave it, so hoped all would go well.
They brought the wrong tree. My mom, who had forgotten all of the names of the flowers in her garden, somehow knew that this wasn’t the tree they had ordered, and refused the delivery. The driver phoned my dad, and they resolved the situation, but Dad boasted for weeks how she’d stood up to the delivery man. A party moment.
Isabel was trying to get ready for Christmas, but 2-year-old Ashley was underfoot and into everything. Her mother, who lived with them, offered to keep Ashley busy. They went into Ashley’s room together, and for a while Isabel heard voices, but then a suspicious quiet prevailed. She tiptoed in to see Ashley cuddled in Grandma’s lap. Grandma held a book, but both slept, cuddled together. Isabel treasured this party moment.
After my mom died, my dad used to come over one evening in December each year to make a gingerbread house with my kids. He didn’t know his way around a kitchen, and he wasn’t particularly good with kids. But he loved his grandchildren, and the memory of them making a glorious mess and eating more candy than they saw in a year with “Bubba” stays with me to this day.
We can miss the party moments. Fleeting, sometimes they don’t stand out from the busy-ness of the day. My challenge to you is to find them, nurture them, create them if possible. Celebrate them!
