Don't hold your breath Frank, they don't "do" Christmas.
Yeah, that's very sad, and my heart goes out to Grandma, who was raised in Ohio in a large loving family of Italianate derivation, surrounded not only by great affection and care, but tradition and respect for all that is sacred.
And now Grandma's with the morose snarly hippyhubby down in northeastern Oklahoma, which is worse than being alone and isolated on Christmas.
They spend Christmas afternoon listening to some "talking books" made by some guy from National Public Radio, Grandma trying to be pleasant while hippyhubby, the wild-eyed Alfred Packer, chews on bones.