Agnes WC 524

Agnes
WC 524

What made things so special today was that Agnes joined us.

Agnes rarely came to a musical program at Sunview Care Center. This Christmas sing-along was being held in the main dining room. I was hauling in my musical equipment when I saw her sitting in her wheelchair at a table to the right of where I would be setting up.

Even though her legs were swollen and cracked, she went to the effort of pulling on her Christmas slipper socks. She was also wearing a red chenille bathrobe, a Christmas scarf, and a Santa hat. I couldn’t believe it! I was so happy!

After I got my paraphernalia set up, I walked over to her.

“Agnes, you’re here! I am so happy to see you!”

I gently squeezed her hand. It was ice cold. I tucked it under the blanket on her lap, walked over to the stage, and began the program.

We sang “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” and Agnes joined in. Every cute or funny song we did, she sang along. On “Jingle Bells,” Agnes made the appropriate sound effects and shook the jingle bells someone had placed in her lap. She ate cookies, and the aide helped her drink her eggnog.

When we got to the sadder songs, she was more reserved. We sang “Silent Night,” and she was crying so much, I almost stopped and went to something funny. But it seemed like she wanted to hear the song and cry along. We sang “Little Drummer Boy.” She “Pa-rum-pum-pum-pummed” along with everyone else, and she and I both had tears running down our cheeks because that song makes me cry, too. We sang “Jingle Bells” again, this time crazy fast and funny, so we would end the sing-along on a high note.

I went through the room shaking hands and sharing holiday greetings with the residents. When I got to Agnes, she had a small gift in her lap. She handed it to me.

“You know I love you.”

“And I love you,” I said, fighting to hold back tears.

“And I will miss you so much. I wanted to come today because I will be gone soon.”

I knew she didn't mean she was moving to another facility.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent. An aide came up behind her, ready to wheel her out of the dining room.

“Please say a prayer for me as I make my journey home. I will always remember you, Jackie.”

“And I will always remember you, sweet Agnes.”

We hugged the best we could, and then the aide wheeled Agnes out; they disappeared down the hall.

When I got into my car, I opened my gift—I couldn’t wait. Wrapped in scraps of Christmas paper was a beautiful tiny white ceramic angel.

The note in Agnes’s shaky handwriting read:

You are my angel, and I will be watching you sing your songs from Heaven. And I will make sure God protects you.

All my love, Agnes.


I hugged my angel and cried like a baby.

What made things so special today? Dear sweet Agnes.