My friend Cindy calls me her spiritual friend. We worked together 25 years ago, and although separated by a little distance and busy schedules, we meet up several times a year. And when we get together, we pick up as though there has been no time or space between us.
I hope you have a friend like Cindy in your life.
Cindy’s mom Betty had been in failing health for a while. Last fall, though the children each were hoping that Betty would make it through another Christmas because she loved the holy day/holiday so much, they also prayed that God would welcome her into His arms.
A devout Catholic, ironically Betty’s favorite Christmas song was not a hymn; it was I’ll Be Home for Christmas. The family had videotaped Betty singing it only the year before, and it had become a fond memory — a reference point for the grandchildren, as in, “Hey, remember when Gram sang I’ll Be Home for Christmas?”
We do not want to lose our parents to death. We know it will eventually happen, but we pretend it won’t. When they’re ill and failing, we pray, bargaining with God for another day. That’s for us, not for our loved ones. We are the ones who aren’t ready to let go, to give them back to God. But then, with acceptance of the inevitable, we pray for their release of suffering.
Cindy and her sister were by their mom’s side as she took her final breath on December 16, 2015. Betty’s last word was, “Perfect.” I like to think that single word was not a physical reaction to the sensation of a cool cloth being placed on her forehead, but rather in response to the end of a life well-lived and well-loved.
At the funeral service, the grown grandchildren and their young families circled their grandmother’s casket holding lighted candles while they sang a capella I’ll Be Home for Christmas.
Smiling through the tears, the family knew the song had taken on a deeper, richer meaning for their beloved. Betty was indeed home for Christmas.
Perfect.
To my readers: Please share a favorite Christmas memory about a parent or other relative.
