Today is Santa Lucia Day in the Scandinavian Household. That is the traditional Scandinavian Household. The girl with the lighted candles on her head brings back tons of pageants, Christmas cookies and breads. The Church would be glowing in candle light. The snow gently falling. The Christmas music playing the Lucia song as the audience hush or speaking in quite whispers anticipation for the excitement of the event, waiting for Lucia to walk down the aisle. A collective “ahh” as Lucia appeared slowly walking down to the sound of the music. Somehow, beyond my understanding it was a rite of passage for a girl to wear that crown of candles, walk down an aisle and stand for at least an hour and then back up the aisle without fainting, falling, or dropping a candle. Talk about child endangerment. It was all part of the celebration.

We are gearing up for the festivities by going to Ingebritsen’s (Swedish meat store in Minneapolis) for the mixings of this holiday meal preparation. Funny, we even talk about how we can get most of the items at our local grocery store. But somehow, it would not be the same if we didn’t jam into a crowed meat market, with the smell of the meat and the push of egger customers. Can you believe they sell a 1000 lbs of meatball mixture a day during this time! There we were, fighting over the last loaf of Swedish Limpa (a dark rye bread with fruit), ordering our meat, sausage, cheese. Standing in the same location that our mother and father stood tons of years ago.

We crave those traditions as we grow older. It was not a sense of losing our mother that would push us to have her make the meatballs or put on a Lucia Fest….it was remembering. Of course, my mother loved to do this. She felt important to us, she was needed. Only she could do that. And we knew that and we celebrated that with her. Meatballs, rice pudding, valling (a rice porridge), Swedish coffee bread. But as we grew older, making our own memories with our own families, my mother was losing hers. Not to memory failure , but because her family had grown up and moved away.

When my mother came out to stay with me for the winters our first holidays were interesting. Because I was single there were no other people to please or work in their traditions. My mother assumed that we would do what our family had done all her life…except there was only the two of us. First of all was buying a tree. First compromise…artificial tree. We were in a warm climate and it would be a waste of money to buy a fresh tree. An easy compromise for both of us. My mother convince me to let her pay for half of the tree. For years she would loved to tell people that she owned the top half of the tree. And for Christmas that year, she bought me a set of Christmas Dishes.   And so our traditions started.

Our celebrations were limited. No Lucia Fest in the area. No snow. No cold. But we did find a great drive for lighted houses and we did enjoy making the food together. We had our Christmas meal and Santa even had presents from family across the miles to open. My mother loved pretty wrapped presents. Although she was not a great wrapper, she loved getting them. At the time my boyfriend and I joked that you could have the cheapest item in an great looking box…but the box had to be special…and better from and expensive store. I told my mom that story, and so under the tree that first Christmas, she had him pick up something for me so she could get a Nordstrom’s box ( my favorite store). It was gorgeous. I cannot remember what was in that box, but I still have the box.

Our family always celebrated opening of presents on Christmas Eve (after dishes were done) when Santa would come. Christmas Morning was church not Santa. My mother was early to bed and early to rise. I was a late to bed and late to rise person. We were opposites. For the holidays this worked great. After she went to bed, I would pull out the Nordstrom’s box and swap the item for me for one for her. She would be greeted on Christmas morning with a gift from “Santa” in the wonderful box. No ceremony, just something under the tree. We would spend the morning eating  her Swedish bread with coffee for her and coco for me.  And so another tradition began.

We were bringing together our old traditions and adding new ones. Somehow it worked without knowing what we were doing. There were some intentions to make this easy for both of us. Things were changing. Our lives were changing. It was falling into place without us really realizing it.

The year I moved back to take care of my mom was the year I realized what had happen. This year it would be fun to be with family. As we were preparing,  little bumps in the road would surface. First, as exciting as it was to be with family on Christmas Eve, it was different. No meatballs, rice pudding etc.   I understood, but my mother did not. They did things a bit different.   Although we were able to go to the Lucia Fest, it was not held on the traditional December 13, not at night but in the afternoon. I understood, my mother did not. She was able to have Lutefisk and that made her happy. But something was not right.

On the drive home from Christmas Eve, my mother was very quiet. Finally, looking out the frosty car window she said “it wasn’t like ours.”   I asked her what she meant by “ours.” She said quietly, that she missed our Christmas that we had the last few years.   In my heart I was dancing. I did something right. I had made my mom feel like home. I was the good daughter. I could not say that to her. Instead I told her I understood and although we were here now we could create new traditions. She gave me a sigh and we got home.

On Christmas morning, I came down to find her sipping her coffee with Swedish coffee bread in hand. Her mood had changed and she was content, but the earth had shifted once more for her. New accommodations had to be made and that meant she would lose more of her traditions. Although she was “home” to the world she knew, it had changed. It reminded her that it was because she was losing the battle with age. She still had a lot of fight in her, but it was a compensation to her world. It was not “our” Christmas that she was missing…it was our family…the one when we were the kids and she was the mom. When the future was ahead, all bright and shinning like presents before they were unwrapped. Full of unknown possibilities. Instead she was still hurting from her fall. She had her friends that she had to explain why her daughter was living with her (she could not say she was living with me), and that she was finish with her exciting vacations in the warm climate (another explanation for living with me). She was losing her independence but more importantly her self worth.

We went back for the Christmas dinner with family. Sitting and being social with everyone, but she still was not herself until she spotted it. Under the tree was a pretty box…from Nordstrom’s. She looked at me and a big smile came over her. It didn’t matter what was in the box…it was our tradition and she was in her glory telling the rest of the family about it. As she rambled on to all who was listening I walked out to the kitchen to swipe a wonderful chocolate mint cookie…”and I bought the top of the tree!” She was on to another “tradition.” On our way home that night we took a detour to see the lights.

At the time, I would love to say I was very wised and knew this was happening. I did not. I was too much in the moment and had no experience to fall back on. I learned to be a caregiver the hard way…I answered a phone call. I see now that the early years of being a caregiver was full of transitions. For me and for my mother.  She was becoming more demanding – because her world that she knew was slipping away. The more demanding she became I could see that mine was slipping away.

Holidays will bring out the worst because it means the most to us. I had learned that those first years, but I could not explain that to the rest of the family. I had passed that bump and now I was dealing with a new set of bumps. I was now the mediator for the family as well as for my mother.   Trying to blend all the bumps so they were passable. For one brief moment, I was the good daughter…or so I thought. Instead, it was a passage for my mother.

My mother has been gone for some time. The Nordstrom box is packed away some place with old photos. The tree, after years of storage in my garage I finally threw it out. Although being a caregiver was not easy and I hit tons of bumps in the roads I traveled.  I have grown and become wiser.   I have created my own traditions now and they are entwined with my parents and family. On December 13, I always remember Lucia. I take out the crown and light the candles…then blow them out.  After all, I don’t want to start a fire.  Now, if only I had made the Swedish coffee bread yesterday….I guess I will just have to settle with some coco.