Last year, my son got Covid for Christmas.

Seriously, after two shots and a booster, he ended up feeling bad enough that he decided to take a test only to discover he had Covid on December 23 … an hour before we were planning to drive to Carmel, Indiana to gather together with family.

He called me, upset and confused. What did this mean? Did it mean we’d head south without him, leaving him to sort out this sickness and Christmas all by himself? Did it mean we’d all stay home? My daughter was so excited about spending time with her cousins and was crushed at the thought. We were all looking forward to this family time. What did we do now?

To only make matters worse, there was a Winter Storm forecast to hit Detroit within the hour. Whatever decision we made had to be fast. Really fast.

I called my dad and told him the situation. He said, “I want my family here for Christmas. Come.”

So we did. We packed up, and Jarod and I headed out within 15 minutes of that call. Doug and Paige followed shortly after. We beat the storm only by minutes — frigid temperatures, snow, and ice hit hard. And so did Covid.

Jarod was completely miserable. Not only was he feeling all kinds of awful, but he didn’t want his grandparents to get sick. We stayed 24 hours and then returned home on perilous, ice-covered roads. It was a harrowing, white-knuckle kind of drive. And it was just a bad decision to travel there overall …

But was it? When we arrived and before Covid really sank its teeth into Jarod, we enjoyed a few moments with my parents — him 6-feet separated and wearing a mask — to watch one of our favorite Christmas movies: “The Muppet Family Christmas.” We spent precious time together, sharing a couple meals before packing up and heading back to Royal Oak on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t all bad. (I can say that because I wasn’t feeling crappy — it was pretty horrible for Jarod!)

The thing was, I knew this was going to be the last Christmas where Mom and Dad would be living in their home on Edison Way — a home they had helped design and that my mom loved to decorate for every holiday, especially when family gathered. But, Mom and Dad weren’t able to do much decorating any more. And time was growing more limited and more precious ….

A few weeks prior, Jarod and I had driven down to decorate their house for Christmas. My mom had boxes and boxes and boxes of decorations. We wanted to help them create a festive feel one final year in this house so they could thoroughly enjoy the sparkle, color, and collections they’d assembled so lovingly over the years.

We carried down boxes (and boxes, and boxes, and boxes!!), my mom sorted through Santas, Nutcrackers, and Boyd’s Bears, and Jarod and I decked the halls, the walls, the shelf cubbies, and the steps in a way special to them and special to us. It was a crazy amount of work but so worth it. My mom could enjoy her decorations for another year.

As we anticipated, my parents moved out of that house and into a retirement community within the next couple of months. My sister-in-law handled the lions’ share of the sorting. But, in the spring, my brother Jeff and I met at the house and finished sorting — going through a lifetime of memories, including ornaments and decorations from the attic. Some were donated while others we distributed to the grandkids. Oh, Jeff and I took a few special things for ourselves and I look forward to adding them to our own Harwood Avenue holiday decor. We also set aside special favorites so our parents could enjoy them in their new home.

But, despite these efforts, they probably won’t decorate much, if any, this year. Dad had hip surgery in late September and is still recovering. And during his surgery/recovery, Mom moved into the Memory Care Center — initially a temporary stay. But, unfortunately, her dementia has progressed and grown worse in the past month. It is unlikely there will be another Carmichael-Clark photo around her piano or that we will gather as we did in years past to share the Christmas traditions so long enjoyed by our combined families.

Yet, between the trip to decorate last November and the 24-hour Covid Christmas, I had a brief glimpse of Christmases past. And we all had a few more minutes with Mom and Dad — Gammie and Granddaddy. So, even in that terrible, no good, very bad Christmas, there were a few moments where we saw the light of that star. And I will be grateful for those fleeting glimpses for the rest of my life.

So, as Thanksgiving approaches and I count my blessings before enjoying that no-excuses holiday meal, I am grateful for those 24 hours in Carmel — and grateful we made it to and from safely. I am grateful for the traditions my parents instilled in me and my kids. And, I am grateful for the people who will join me at the table, for those who will be spending their holiday elsewhere, and for those who have passed on from our earthly Thanksgiving table and now celebrate at a heavenly one.

Mixed Blessings are still blessings … it’s just a matter of how you decide to look at them.