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As the first emotional hurdles approached- Pops’ 79^th birthday, my grandparents’ 58^thwedding anniversary, Thanksgiving, and Christmas- we each formed goals. I think it gave us something to focus on to distract ourselves and to give us motivation to get through. I think everyone subconsciously just wanted to get to and through Christmas. My dad, as executor of the estate, focused hard-core on getting everything in line. In our eyes, my grandfather wasn’t supposed to go first. We felt as if we were prematurely robbed. Everything had been set up for my grandmother to go followed by my grandfather. We prayed for clarity and wisdom for him as he tried to emulate my grandfather’s role while praying against his Parkinson’s. My mom’s goal was harder to define. I think her goal was to simply get through Christmas and make sure everyone else did too. She was with my grandmother nearly every day, she supported my dad, and she kept me updated knowing a portion of how badly I wanted to be home. All the while helping her own mom with the demands she presented. One of her sub-goals was to be Jesus to our extended family since we were forced to spend much more time with them. A goal that sounds noble, but is a hard one to carry out.

My brother’s focus was the impending basketball season. My grandfather had always been a fan of my brother’s school, and he was an even bigger fan of Garrett’s basketball skills. Garrett poured his grief into training and practicing, often commenting that Pops was who he was playing for. Whitney… well, my sister is hard to read. She’s very private. Her goal must’ve been to show everyone that she was fine and to pour her love out on my grandma. When I was home I’d often find her no more than a few feet from her. My grandmother’s goal was very obvious. Her verbal goal was to get through my sister’s high school graduation in May, but the way she lived was to get the legal stuff set in place and live through at least Christmas. My goal? Finish the calendar.

The calendar was a family tradition that started in the 90s. My grandfather would take everyone’s birthdays, anniversaries, and deaths and turn them into a calendar accompanied by a plethora of family pictures. It was unique because it incorporated everyone- my grandpa’s side of the family, my grandmother’s side, and even included my mom’s family. Family members received their calendar every year at Christmas. Since it was October, my grandfather had started the calendar, but he hadn’t started assembling pictures. The task fell to me, and it was hard doing it while living out of town. I started going home frequently to be near my family and to work on the calendar.

In November I adopted Maggie, a nearly 2 year old black lab/pointer from the pound. I had always wanted a dog, and my grandmother loved dogs, so Maggie started going home with me to be spoiled by my grandmother while I worked on the calendar. When Maggie and I weren’t visiting my grandmother, she was calling to check in on Maggie and get stories of her antics.

Thanksgiving came and went. I didn’t get to go home. November wrapped up in a blur, as did December. It’s almost amazing how your mind can shut down. I honestly don’t remember much of those months. Each day became a mini-hurdle: get up, feed the dog, walk the dog, get the girls to school, and most days return to bed.

  I returned home with one of my co-workers right before Christmas. My grandma seemed to rally as family came in, but it was short lived. She slipped in and out of consciousness two days before Christmas. The calendar was finished Christmas Eve. Christmas day was quiet. We tried to continue on with tradition. It was hard to do knowing that we were down one and about to be down two. Christmas dinner was eerily quiet. Everyone was fighting back tears as we tried to celebrate the reason for the season, but we made it. The day ended and we were still trucking on. We reached our goal.

Two days after Christmas, my grandmother passed on.