Tara2007
It was a normal Christmas Holiday for my family, in 1995...my son was 3 and my daughter 8, and they were excited and looking forward to the festivities. We had a lot of fun decking the halls, baking, going to restaurants...my kids always wore their finest and behaved so naturally well, not stiff and formal, but were and are so good natured that I couldn't have had a better gift truth be known.
And we were always close to my parents, "nonny and pop-pop" as my kids called them, so it was also normal for us to be around when my parents were hanging up the outside lights...my dad on the ladder and my mom standing below giving instructions of course!
It was one week before Christmas, and my dad had begun putting up decorations earlier that day, but had to stop a few times because he wasn't feeling well. That was a first for him, he was never sick. Finally, he went back in the house to lay down. Later, when we had left, my mother went to check on him and he was burning up with a fever. During the night he got progressively worse...dizzy spells...vomiting....and so in the morning my mother insisted that my dad, "Vince", be seen by his doctor. When they got there, the doctor took one look at my dad and said it was pneumonia and sent him to the hospital right away. But it was not said to be that serious, it was more because of my dad's age, 79, that he would do best with professional care.
Through that week, both my kids also came down with a stomach virus, so I had my hands full, but still the reports from the hospital were optimistic. My dad would probably be home by Christmas Eve.
On Friday, the 22nd, my dad's breathing became very difficult, so he was put in an oxygen tent. It was then that we learned that the antibiotics now being given to him by a tube going into his chest, were not effectively combating the virus. Everything seemed to change so fast, and by the wee hours on the 24th, my dad was put on a respirator. Still, his doctor expected "Vince to recover."
When I got to the hospital on Christmas Eve, I knew that my father was never going to come home again. Tubes everywhere it seemed, by dad's face was this awful ashy blue and he looked as if he were barely alive. I could hear the sound of the breath being forced into him and I could not imagine him being able to draw that same breath on his own. He seemed to have sunken into himself...looked like had dropped a large amount of weight in just a few days....and all I could do was sit there and talk to him about nonsense. How helpless it all felt.
On Christmas Day, I was taking the last dish out of the oven at about 5PM, and had just turned to my husband and told him that all was ready, and everyone could sit down to dinner. It was just then that phone rang and as you may guess it was the hospital, saying that my father was dead.
Memories of that evening are a blur of clanging dishes, my mother-in-law red faced and crying, my mother looking lost and frightened, my son hugging my legs as I stood trying to explain to my daughter how Jesus could allow a person to die on Christmas. An angel in the form of my sister-in-law shoved a glass of champagne in front of me and said "drink this". After that we left for the hospital and the dealt with the horror of a loved one's passing on such a Holiday.
For myself, I must say that I was never an absolute Christian, but do love the spirit of brotherhood and giving to others. For many years I felt angry and resentful during the Christmas holiday, but this year has brought me to a new place of understanding and I have for the first time in nearly 11 years, decked the halls and made merry. It has been great.
So, for me, I would say that the true spirit of Christmas is healing. Even the deepest of wounds can be reduced to nothing more than a small scar that just becomes part of you and you feel good about things nonetheless.
I suppose you could say that for me, "It's A Wonderful Life" would be the right expression. It can be, if we allow it.
The best of The Season to everyone on AT!
And we were always close to my parents, "nonny and pop-pop" as my kids called them, so it was also normal for us to be around when my parents were hanging up the outside lights...my dad on the ladder and my mom standing below giving instructions of course!
It was one week before Christmas, and my dad had begun putting up decorations earlier that day, but had to stop a few times because he wasn't feeling well. That was a first for him, he was never sick. Finally, he went back in the house to lay down. Later, when we had left, my mother went to check on him and he was burning up with a fever. During the night he got progressively worse...dizzy spells...vomiting....and so in the morning my mother insisted that my dad, "Vince", be seen by his doctor. When they got there, the doctor took one look at my dad and said it was pneumonia and sent him to the hospital right away. But it was not said to be that serious, it was more because of my dad's age, 79, that he would do best with professional care.
Through that week, both my kids also came down with a stomach virus, so I had my hands full, but still the reports from the hospital were optimistic. My dad would probably be home by Christmas Eve.
On Friday, the 22nd, my dad's breathing became very difficult, so he was put in an oxygen tent. It was then that we learned that the antibiotics now being given to him by a tube going into his chest, were not effectively combating the virus. Everything seemed to change so fast, and by the wee hours on the 24th, my dad was put on a respirator. Still, his doctor expected "Vince to recover."
When I got to the hospital on Christmas Eve, I knew that my father was never going to come home again. Tubes everywhere it seemed, by dad's face was this awful ashy blue and he looked as if he were barely alive. I could hear the sound of the breath being forced into him and I could not imagine him being able to draw that same breath on his own. He seemed to have sunken into himself...looked like had dropped a large amount of weight in just a few days....and all I could do was sit there and talk to him about nonsense. How helpless it all felt.
On Christmas Day, I was taking the last dish out of the oven at about 5PM, and had just turned to my husband and told him that all was ready, and everyone could sit down to dinner. It was just then that phone rang and as you may guess it was the hospital, saying that my father was dead.
Memories of that evening are a blur of clanging dishes, my mother-in-law red faced and crying, my mother looking lost and frightened, my son hugging my legs as I stood trying to explain to my daughter how Jesus could allow a person to die on Christmas. An angel in the form of my sister-in-law shoved a glass of champagne in front of me and said "drink this". After that we left for the hospital and the dealt with the horror of a loved one's passing on such a Holiday.
For myself, I must say that I was never an absolute Christian, but do love the spirit of brotherhood and giving to others. For many years I felt angry and resentful during the Christmas holiday, but this year has brought me to a new place of understanding and I have for the first time in nearly 11 years, decked the halls and made merry. It has been great.
So, for me, I would say that the true spirit of Christmas is healing. Even the deepest of wounds can be reduced to nothing more than a small scar that just becomes part of you and you feel good about things nonetheless.
I suppose you could say that for me, "It's A Wonderful Life" would be the right expression. It can be, if we allow it.
The best of The Season to everyone on AT!
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