CHRISTMAS EVE TO
REMEMBER….OR NOT
Written by Luz Leigh - 21 December 2007
The following
is taken from the story of my life….parts of which
do not make me proud….truth hurts.
Mother’s
condition became very grave by December. I think
she knew her life was now numbered in days, not
months or years. During the last years of her
life, she would go to a local doctor and have some
sort of procedure done. I was too small to
understand what took place but during one such
procedure, it was said that the doctor “punctured”
her lung, causing it to collapse. She was very
self-conscious about her appearance after this
occurred. Because she was so thin by this time,
the collapsed lung caused her back to take on the
appearance of having a “hump” where the normal
lung was. She could not sleep on her right side
because of the non-functioning lung. Not only did
she suffer from TB, but she had asthma. I can
remember the horrible wheezing sounds that would
come from her room when she would be having an
asthmatic attack. There was nothing I could do to
relieve her suffering, but I would go into the
room and stand by her bedside, wishing something
could be done to help her breathe. I remember
standing by her bed once, with Mother begging me
to pray for her. I was just a small child and had
not really learned how to pray an intercessory
prayer. It was shortly thereafter I made up my
mind to learn how to pray on behalf of others.
On the night of
January 5th, Mother was quite ill. Some friends
and family there waiting for the inevitable. Daddy
told me to go on to bed, which I did. I finally
fell into a deep sleep and barely aroused when
someone came into my room and said, “Get up. Your
mother is dying.” To this day, I get a sinking
feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think of
those words and what I did, rather what I did not
do, upon hearing them. I did not immediately get
up – I did not want to face what was happening
across the hall from my bedroom. I lay in my bed,
hoping what I had heard was not true. Then Daddy
came into the room, took me in his arms, and with
tears in his eyes, he told me Mother was gone. I
can remember sobbing for a long time, leaning on
his strong body for comfort. He never said
anything about my not being in the room when
Mother left this world for her much-earned rest
and freedom from pain. I don’t know if he even
knew someone went to my room before Mother
died. But, I know. That was in the very early
morning of January 6th. Mother was
buried on a cold, cold Saturday following her
death. There were only graveside services and the
sharp north wind cut right to the bone.
Let me jump back
to that last Christmas Eve. Daddy knew I wanted a
watch for Christmas….I had told “Santa” this. So,
as we always did, we opened our gifts around
mid-afternoon. There were two gift boxes from the
jewelry store, wrapped in the prettiest paper I
had ever seen. Daddy handed Mother her gift; she
opened it to find a delicate Bulova watch
inside. Oh, that was the prettiest watch I had
ever seen. When it came my time, I opened my
box…..only to find a Mickey Mouse watch! Because
in Daddy’s eyes, I was still a child. The
disappointment was plain. My parents looked at
each other, and only as loving parents can do,
they took away my disappointment. Mother handed me
her gift, taking my Mickey Mouse watch. She said
it was just a joke Daddy was pulling on me. Oh, my
heart leapt with joy. You see I was SOOO
spoiled. I put the Bulova watch on and thought I
was the most loved child in the world. My
selfishness still makes me cringe and shed tears
when I recall that incident. You see, had I waited
about 13 more days, the watch would have been mine
anyway, for Mother would have no use for a watch
in the land to which she would journey.
The watch was
worn by me for many years and it still sits in the
maroon velvet gift box, a silent reminder of my
parents’ great love and my selfishness.
As I have stated
before Mother began to prepare for her death long
before it happened. She searched through the Sears
Roebuck catalog, found a simple gray wool skirt
and a pretty white blouse with some lace on the
front. There were long sleeves to help cover her
arms that had become so very thin. She ordered
these items and had them hanging in her room in
preparation for her demise. But, someone stepped
in and convinced Daddy that this was not
appropriate attire for a burial. During those days
most women were buried in a “shroud”, a gown-like
garment sold by funeral homes. I was not allowed
to accompany Daddy to the funeral home to make
preparations for Mother’s funeral, so I was
surprised when I saw her laying in her casket,
dressed not in her chosen clothes, but a pink
shroud. She looked pretty, but it just wasn’t
right. I think she wanted to wear something that
did not look like bed clothing because she had
spent too many days of her young life dressed that
way. So three months and two days past her
thirty-sixth birthday, my sweet mother was laid to
rest in the family cemetery.
As I have
stated, there were only graveside services with
few people there because it was so cold and a
light rain was falling. I don’t know where I got
it, maybe Mother had bought it for me before she
died, but, anyhow, I wore a dark brown velveteen
jacket for warmth. It was pretty, but did little
to keep me from shivering. The cold weather was
not the only thing that made me shiver that day.
I am sorry if
this sounds sad….it is, but every year on
Christmas Eve I am reminded of my parents’ love
for me…..only overshadowed by Christ’s love for
me.
