Merry Mondays

It's another merry Monday, and despite the craziness that ushered in this first day of the week, I'm determined to be at peace, knowing the season of Advent is shrouding the world in light and love.

I've mentioned before that I'm a bit of a Christmas addict. It's true. I'm a real sucker for the warmth and loved ones all around me. This Christmas was shaping up to be one of the better ones. As of last night, I had all my presents bought and wrapped, the apartment is decorated and my plans to travel home next week were set. There are even rumblings of a winter snowstorm just in time for the holiday.

I had plans to sing in my church choir's Christmas concert this week. Plans to present a child with my Angel Tree gift tonight. Hopes to spend some quality time curled up with hot chocolate, a candy cane and a good book.

All that changed at the stroke of midnight.

The anxiety began with a sick dog at the emergency vet around 1 a.m. (But I'll save that for another column.)

After tumbling into bed around 3 a.m., waking up about 6 a.m. to let the dog out, then falling back asleep for a bit, I awoke to the sound of my cell phone chirping.

It was 7:10 a.m. I wasn't going to answer it until I saw that my dad's name popped up on the incoming call screen.

Even before I heard my dad's somber voice, I knew what had happened.

My beautiful southern Nana, age 90, had died in her sleep after almost a year of living with dementia in a nursing home in Niagara Falls, N.Y.

I still haven't cried about it. Maybe because I'm physically removed from the situation. Maybe because she'd been sick since late in January. Maybe because part of me expected it.

For some reason, Christmas seems to be the time that my grandparents pass away.

In 1991, my dad's father died on Dec. 21. In 2001, my mom's mother died on Dec. 23. These were the only three grandparents I knew. My mother's father drowned before I was born.

So it's already been a long and fairly un-merry Monday. Thankfully, we're able to make new memories to cover up the sad ones.

That's my wish this Christmas.