We spent Christmas morning this year visiting a local care center singing Christmas carols and delivering treats to those who were still around. The people in the care center that morning were those who didn't have family or friends to take them to nearby homes for Christmas parties or big family dinners, which made me especially mindful of those who we were visiting with.
One thing I wanted to jot down about that morning (besides visiting with the woman in the Alzheimer unit who thought Michael Jackson was her husband + Max performing the moonwalk for her) was our visit with Bruce. Bruce was what my cousins referred to as "gansta grandpa" -- tattoo's up and down his arms and legs, war veteran, I think he even might me hiding a stash of tobacco somewhere in his room ;) -- and he had a heart of gold. Max had mentioned he liked the shirt Bruce was wearing (picture: skulls and crossbones and chains) before leaving his room, and moments later we saw Bruce scooting down the hallway on his little walker holding a similar shirt for Max - skulls and all. He even kept it on the hanger.
Well, I felt like my heart grew three sizes. No doubt Bruce in his old age, in this small room, in this tiny care center, has only a few possessions to his name -- and yet he still wanted to give something to someone. On the snowy drive home, I got teary listening to Silent Night and thinking about Bruce. In years to come I will no doubt forget the presents I received this year, but I will never forget Bruce or the morning we spent singing carols. It was one of the most special Christmas mornings I've ever had.
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