Today is Sunday, the 9th of December...

This day last year would have started like this:

I would rise early, grab a cup of coffee and hit the keyboard. Typically, everyone would be home that should be home. The hustle and bustle wouldn't begin until Michelle was ready to leave for work. As always, Bill would sleep until he woke up. No cereal, oatmeal or pop-tarts for breakfast. On Sunday, I always cooked for him. He could always remember it was Sunday.

Things look different around here this year. The house is less decorated and in a much different style. Perhaps minimalist, where less is more. Keeping watch over me is a tall single cypress outside the bedroom window, lit up with the extra Christmas lights. Willie Splinter and I watch the lights dance on the wall until midnight.

A couple weeks ago and in fits and starts, I began cleaning out his closet. A nice surprise or two when going through the pockets, it is odd that I can remember nearly exactly where we were the last time he wore this or that. Separating into categories for quilts, the Abercrombie button downs here, the Hilfigers and Columbias there. I had forgotten he owned a tuxedo until I pulled it out.

By now he would be asking nearly constantly, "When are we leaving for Mikie's?"

Always anxious and excited about a road trip, I may take a different route this year.

The girls and I reminisced last night over turkey ring. I guess when the shock begins to wear off, one begins to remember better the terms of endearment, his expressions of surprise, the funny things he said, his take on the world.

Looking around, this house seems larger. Not that furnishings have been removed, but most definitely because he's not in it. Or is he? In every inch of this place, there is a memory.

Bill loved the holidays, the lights at Christmas, cooking, eating and seeing his family come together in our home. Today, I am thankful we accommodated his love of the banana pudding trifle, the chocolate covered cherries, the gathering together to make a fuss over him. He enjoyed Christmas morning as much as any child.
 

I wrote within weeks of his passing, "God gives us memories, that we may have roses in December."

It would have been so easy to shut down the holidays altogether this year. Even with a new twist on Christmas, we're finding it extremely difficult to come up with a new plan. Actually, the most comforting thing we've found is home.

Today marks exactly 8 months. On the 9th of April on Easter Sunday. Running my hands across his jackets brings comfort and even though I've left out a few things to wrap up in, my goal is to have most of his closet packed away by the New Year.

More aware now than ever the impressions you make and the legacy you leave, I ponder, "How will I be remembered and will there always be roses in December?" 

For us, I suspect you can count on it...

My name is Rhonda Brantley and my husband, Billy Ray Brantley, suffered from Early Onset Alzheimer's Dementia. This is the best shot we have at documenting daily living.

The Holidays and Italian Thanksgiving

Lord knows, I have no idea what to expect as we approach Thanksgiving and Christmas. Bill loved watching us decorate for Christmas. Actually, I remember lovingly our first Christmas together. He left on a Friday for the hunting camp and coming home, literally slammed on the breaks in front of the house as up on the hill, centered in the dining room window was a very large, very well lit and very beautiful Christmas tree.

Because of our family dynamic, having Christmas or Thanksgiving at our home on the actual day never rendered the entire bunch together. Kids visiting their mothers and fathers (natural) which finally left us the choice of celebrating early. So, Thanksgiving dinner with our bunch was generally the week before and nobody really wanted the traditional Thanksgiving fare. That is when Italian Thanksgiving began.

This year, the girls (Kate and Michelle) are absolutely against anything to eat that even resembles Thanksgiving fare. Only substituting a ham for a turkey on Easter, the meals are typically identical. (Remember, Bill passed not too long after our Easter meal April 9th)

His passing also represents new traditions. I am not cancelling our old ones, but this year feel that it is important for us to try and move forward. Still raw and fresh in our hearts is the emptiness of his absence, therefore I am confident that insisting upon keeping the status quo is a not so compassionate way to approach this. Hard enough will be navigating the memories without him, even harder will be trying to recreate something that will never be. It was because of him that those traditions began. It was he who enjoyed them so. He is gone. That tradition is gone.

So empty the chair he occupied, the space he commanded, the noise he created -

We have voted and agreed that the girls and I will be having Italian Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving Day. And, because I will not be cooking, we will revert back to a pre-Bill tradition and decorate the tree and house for Christmas - all weekend long!

The beautiful and thoughtfully collected glass ornaments we have amassed and used over the years will remain in their storage bins, safely marking time for another Christmas down the road. I'm even trading in the old candles for a new scent. The new natural burlap ribbon has been ordered and Tracey Cole and I will be applying the mercury glass look to any and everything we can find.

I cannot thank those enough for the invitations to spend Thanksgiving away from home. From South Carolina to Texas and many friends locally, the girls have said no thank-you to Thanksgiving fixins'. Nor do they want to spend Thanksgiving with another family. Hopeful that this will improve, I gratefully acquiesce.

My good friend Sonia Bertolone de Carillo has a locally famous restaurant named after it's founder (her father). Joe's Italian will be taking orders early for next week and I intend to get ours in today. The thought of Mamma's salad, lasagna, ravioli rose, cannoli, bread and dipping sauce, even a little tiramisu makes me smile.

After recently spending time with Giuseppe (Joe) Bertolone, I came away with a new respect for the guys who built and carried on their businesses, teaching and employing their children, building community with pride and quality. Joe educated me on his home place in Italy with great passion and I was able to assist him with navigating his facebook page. Overall, it was splendid. So perhaps it is not just about having Italian food for dinner, moreover, a tribute of sorts to Joe - the kind of man who goes to work every day, the man who takes care of his family. In sickness or in health because that is just what you do.

And then, perhaps I will throw in a purchased smoked Turkey for sandwiches and a Costco pecan pie. Perhaps.

As for Christmas, we have always traveled. Either by boat, plane, train or Suburban. Long trips, short trips, out of the country trips. Beach, Las Vegas, Texas, Utah, Colorado, Bahamas...

However this year, we are staying at home. And it will probably include the remainder of Joe's Italian menu items we did not get to sample on round one.


My name is Rhonda Brantley and my husband, Billy Ray Brantley suffers from Early Onset Alzheimer's Dementia. This is the best shot we have at documenting daily living.