The Best Christmas Ever

“It’s going to be a tough Christmas,” I thought as I pulled out of the rehabilitation center on Christmas Eve. My trunk held the few Christmas presents I’d been able to afford and had time to shop for around hospital visits. Why Lord, did you have to give my wonderful wife cancer? Why a car accident for my mother who now relies upon a “halo” to support her broken neck? I awaited the call from my wife’s cancer doctor. Had the stem cell transplant worked? Did my wife Kathy have a white blood cell count again? Had healthy cells replaced those killed along with the cancer? Could my three girls and I handle a sick wife/mother and an injured grandmother on Christmas day? Could Kathy reach her goal of attending the Christmas Eve candlelight service tonight? What a Christmas, Lord!

As I drove into our yard, I noticed immediately that the 6 inches of snow that had fallen earlier in the day had been plowed from the driveway. Even now my 13-year-old daughter wielded a shovel almost as big as she was as she cleared the sidewalk and porch.

“Great job Sarah! Thank you.”

“If Mom is finally going to get out of the house tonight, we want everything to be safe for her,” Sarah explained with a grin. “Mr. Hickey plowed the driveway for us. Just don’t get too used to this.”

“I promise,” I quipped as I opened the door. Mandy, my 16-year-old daughter, was just leaving Kathy’s bedroom carrying the cordless phone.

“Mom wants to talk to you, Dad,” she said as she went to hang up the phone.

“What’s up Hon?”

“Dr. Yost just called. I have a white cell count! It’s very low, but they’re there!” As I hugged Kathy gingerly she added, “I can go tonight, but only if we follow her rules.”

. . . . .

As we pulled up to the side door of the church, the complicated entry process began. Sarah headed for the front door to see Pastor Jim and tell him that Kathy had arrived. Mandy headed for the side door to clear the way. I helped Kathy from the minivan as Marci, my eldest daughter, slid across into the driver’s seat.

“Park in the handicap space, Marci.”

“No way!” Kathy corrected me. “I’m not handicapped, I’m recovering.”

As I helped her in the door and Mandy proceeded to make sure that all well wishers stayed out of our path I made sure that Mandy had cleared the way. We made our way to the second pew. As Dr. Yost had instructed, the ushers had roped off the three surrounding rows.. I was conscious of all the people staring at Kathy with her white surgical mask, pasty white complexion, and, if they had been able to see closely, the blue tint of her fingers and lips, all side effects of intense chemotherapy. Everyone had been informed at the door that, “You may not approach or touch Kathy. Even a cold could be deadly.”

The sea of glowing flames lit her face as Kathy gazed at the advent candles. For the first time in months a smile flickered across her face, making all the trouble worth while. As Pastor Jim spoke, all I could think about was the joy of watching Kathy’s desire come true. He spoke of love and the miraculous gift of the Christ child, but I thought of the gift of a wife’s love. For the first time I began to experience joy that Christmas season. I began to reflect on all that I had, not on all the stress and grief of the year gone by. Even the close call with the auto accident didn’t haunt me anymore. For the first time, I looked forward to bringing my Mom home from the hospital to spend Christmas with us.

. . . . .

The next evening as I fed wood into the wood stove, I began to examine Christmas 1997 in a new light. My mother, halo and all, had enjoyed Christmas dinner with us. I had planned on cooking a roast, about as fancy as my cooking gets, but we instead had a wonderful spiral ham and all the trimmings delivered to us. The torn wrappings from the kid’s gifts were all bagged for the trash. In the other room I heard Sarah talking to her girlfriend and I had to agree with her when she said, “This was the best Christmas ever. My Mom’s getting better, so is my Grandma, and we were all together. What more could I ask for?”

What more indeed.

(It’s been twelve years since that Christmas. Kathy has beat cancer. She’s attended three high school graduations, three college graduations, three daughter’s weddings, and held two granddaughters in her arms. Mom is still active at age 84, fully recovered from her broken neck.)