I used to love the holidays. As soon as the temperature outside dropped below 70, I'd get an extra spring in my step and become this unnaturally chipper crazy person. However, over the past few years that has changed. I no longer love fall and winter. I get pumped for Halloween, but as soon as I realize thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, my cheer levels drop and I get hyper-depressed. I don't have Seasonal Affective Disorder, I'm not a scrooge. What on earth could be causing me to hate The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year?!

Every year on thanksgiving, my family used to travel to my dad's parents' house in Blue Springs, Missouri for food and fun. My Grandma Pat would be in the kitchen for days ahead of time, preparing the feast. She'd go all out: pies, cookies, puddings, green bean casserole (my favorite!), sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, roasted potatoes, gravy- and of course, the fattest turkey she could find at Price Chopper. My cousins would come in from Colorado, and we'd see the family that stayed in town, too.

Christmas was a whole different affair. Grandpa Joe would set up their 10-foot-tall tree and cover it with tinsel and glitter and lights and thousands of ornaments (the Barbie collection was my favorite). Of course, Grandma would be busy cooking away, per usual. They had a creepy, life-sized Santa robot that stood in the corner by the TV and sand songs and danced when you pushed a button on his base. There was always tons of gifts. Each cousin would get at least one outfit from Macy's, toys, candy and fruit in our very own stocking. Christmas was the definition of joy as a child.

Then Grandpa got Alzheimer's.

I don't remember much about when he was diagnosed; I was still in early grade school. But I do remember when Grandma got it.

I was 16. Grandpa had been deteriorating for about ten years, and Grandma was starting to forget things: her keys, her meds, Grandpa's meds, to throw away old food or feed the dog. She hid it well- just not well enough. I remember she and Dad got in a huge fight about her driving. I wasn't allowed to be in the room with the adults, and that made me mad. I easedropped, and discovered that Grandma had run a red light and almost hit someone. Dad said, "Did you know it was red?" And she responded, "yes". But she was lying.

And she would continue to lie until we could intervene.

Early 2014, Grandma fell and broke her hip. She wasn't getting enough calcium, and had brittle bones from it. She had to be hospitalized and have surgery to replace the hip as it had shattered. This was our time to act. We took Grandpa and Shadow (their dog; old grey miniature schnauzer who is basically a grumpy old man) to Lawrence, KS to come stay with us until grandma was released from the hospital and we could put them in a retirement home. Grandma was furious. How DARE we take her from her home and force her to live with old people. She didn't belong here! She wants to go home! (For the record, its been nearly three years and she still asks to go home.)

That was it. No more Christmas, no more holidays. No more family gatherings for the heck of it. No more.

We spend holidays at the retirement home now, but it always feels like something is missing. Where's the presents? Where's the laughter?

Grandma will ask you the same question five times in a thirty minute visit now, and some days Grandpa doesn't know who anyone is. He rarely talks anymore. He rarely smiles. Occasionally we'll see his old self for a moment, but the moment always passes. Grandma is her old self, just more forgetful and more dishonest. I miss the old days. I miss the joy. I miss them.

Someday, they will find a cure for Alzheimer's, and hopefully they will be here still. I'm terrified that Grandpa will pass before that day comes. But, maybe they won't die before then. Maybe, one day, we can go back to normal Christmas. Until then, I will hate the holidays.