Since being home for the holiday, it’s been just like any other holiday visit. I get here and resume my duties as my parents’ oldest: help out around the house, run errands, and go with Dad to visit my grandparents. Since my grandmother was taking a trip to the mountains, this visit was dedicated to my grandpa. I met his home visit nurse and his health insurance representative. Between the two of them, the information they were laying out for him was mind-boggling, I have to admit. It occurs to me that there’s a possibility of this being the last Christmas I’ll get with my grandfather, and it’s tempting to get caught up in the devastation of this thought, but really it’s a blessing that he’s with us for this one.
This was my mindset four hours later as we were leaving his home. Before heading back to Centennial, I wanted to stop for a visit with my priest. He transferred to a different parish in June, and we were in his area. When we arrived, we were able to find him right away. Unfortunately, because we entered through the chapel instead of through the church, we didn’t realize until we sat down in a pew that Father B. was conducting a funeral. So here are Dad and I, complete strangers to the grieving family, dressed completely inappropriately, not knowing what to do, completely mortified by our intrusion on this poor family’s solemn gathering. Hoping to avoid causing a scene, we sat quietly and listened to part of this particular mass. And, even though I still feel terrible, I’m glad we stayed for that little bit. It seems that God meant for me to learn a lesson today.
The deceased was a young woman. Her children were there, ages probably from nine to twelve, sitting in the first pew with their father and grandparents. After leaving the church, I noticed the decorations hung around the neighborhoods and remembered the Christmas music and movies that have been playing, and I can’t help but think that for this family – and countless others with similar situations – Christmas will be forever changed for them from this day forward. How do you lay your mother, your daughter, your spouse to rest just three days before the holiday that celebrates the bond of family? I can only imagine the emotional journey this family has been on. My heart goes out to them, and they will be in my prayers.
Sometimes Christmas spirit doesn’t mean good cheer and warm, fuzzy joyousness. Sometimes at Christmas our neighbors and colleagues are carrying a heavy heart and an aching soul. It’s good to remember that compassion and love can be given freely to anyone, even strangers, without cost and without hope for recompense. I hope I remember this Christmas, and for the rest of my God given days, that the greatest gift I can give is this: love, compassion, and understanding. And every now and then, a quiet exit.
