What About Christmas

Oh, the childhood memories I recall now that Mom is gone...

In second grade I read about St. Nicholas, the tall bearded man carrying a large cloth bag who handed out gifts to poor children every Christmas even during blizzards. I could not wait to retell this story to my mother, but she said we could talk about it later. I cornered her as she was cutting up vegetables for dinner, "Mom, you know St. Nicholas is Santa Claus, right?" I held my breath and waited. 


She put down her knife, wiped off her hands, and looked at me. Her face looked only serious, "Jesus' birth is the reason we celebrate Christmas."


"But was St. Nicholas really Santa?," I wanted to know.


She picked up her knife and a carrot, and turned back to the counter: "St. Nicholas was the first Santa Claus, and the present day Santas in the department stores are his helpers." Then she sighed, "Go do your homework; I have to make dinner."


With bible readings at school and Mass, and her words, I concluded that Christmas was a holiday because of the long ago birth of Jesus Christ in a cow manger in Bethlehem, lit by a huge star so shepherds and kings could find Him. Yet it was hard to resist the delightful storybooks and television specials about Santa Claus, which highlighted presents as the reason for the season. My mother reminded us every year, making sure the tiny, beautiful Baby Jesus figurine appeared in our Nativity creche on Christmas morning. 


Still, every year I would go to sleep on Christmas Eve with that queasy feeling in my tummy-- gift anticipation. In the pre-dawn light I awoke to her words echoing. Before I got up I prayed, "Thank you God for Jesus." As  I ran down the hallway, I willed myself to look for Baby Jesus before I looked under the tree. 

May wonderful childhood memories be with you this holiday season. May you recall not the names of Santa's reindeer but the story of the first Christmas. May you be like the Magi following a new, ever-bright star. May you embrace that sacred light within, as it rekindles God's loving flame in your hearts. 


Blessings and joy to you all!

A Lesson from My Mother

One lesson I learned from my mother Eloise is to continue to love, no matter what. 


"I want everyone to love each other," I heard her say countless times. Once, after several years of her illness, I asked her what she prayed for. "I ask God to help us love one another."


Each other meant her family-- Eloise's Joe, husband since Fall 1941 (my father), her children (7) and spouses, grandchildren (16), and great-grandchildren (5 so far), and each of our extended families (not to mention the surviving members of her generation, like her dear brother Gordon who phoned her nearly every day). She delighted in every phone call, ending each with "I love you."


As she moved from independent to immobile, conversations included more of her recollections, and in the telling they seemed as real as any moment. Such were her welcome escapes from life from a bed.


She reconciled herself to not being in charge of anything but her feelings and her thoughts. She sent others get-well wishes, birthday greetings, and thank-you cards.  When she could no longer manage to do them longhand or via email, she enlisted Dad and others to help. She wrote many inspirational notes and stories; my father and brother are still discovering them weeks after her death.


Upon her death, folks who saw or heard from Mom regularly while she was ill shared their gratitude for her loving acts. One friend said, "There she was obviously in pain and stuck in that bed, yet she had me laughing before I left. Your Mom was special." Another marveled that Mom was sending out get well cards to people who had not ever visited her during her long confinement, "She was such a good example, and one of the kindest people I know." 


"Continue to love, no matter what," is indelibly imprinted on my heart. As Eloise's daughter, I am about loving on purpose.

We Witnessed Love's Miracle

May everyone who reads this be able to witness the miracle of love as my family did before my mother's passing. Mom long spoke of what she wanted to happen when it came her time to go. Somehow it turned out as she wished.

She wanted her seven children and her husband of nearly 70 years to surround her bedside. (That my three sisters and two brothers managed to get there on such short notice is amazing. One brother has been living with my folks, and I made the shortest trek from Phoenix to Oro Valley near Tucson.)

We were all there with Mom and Dad for more than a day. After hours of visiting one of my sisters asked if Mom wanted us to leave the room so she could rest. Mom mouthed "No" and shook her head slightly. My sister then asked if she wanted us to stay close so she could hear us talking with each other, and Mom shook her head "Yes."

She wanted Last Rites and the new Pastor of my parent's parish, Father Larry, was already in the hospital ward when the nurse offered to call for a priest.

She wanted to hear a favorite song as she did in the 1930's, not a remake but the original. My youngest brother had somehow found it. In a time of few words, her thankful "Wow" moved all of us.

She loved ice cream, and near the end we each gave her a bite of her favorite, vanilla.

She did not ask us, but three of us sang "Amazing Grace" for her. Dad asked me to read exerpts from Mom's book entitled "A Rose in My Coffee Cup." My sister Cari even sang some old Western songs, ones our mother might have heard on the ranch as a child.

One by one her beloved children and husband of nearly 70 years got the chance to kiss her goodbye with oft-trembling lips. Never were our offerings of "I love you" so poignant.

I was able to remind my mother, whispering in her ear as she drifted in and out, about the dream I had about her months earlier.

She and I were walking on dirt road in a beautiful green-hilled park. I had my arm under her elbow to steady her, as her spine was already bent way forward. We talked about the beautiful day, the singing birds, and warm sunshine. Then she stopped and squeezed my arm. "You must go back now," she said. "What?" I asked incredulously. "You can't go with me," she said firmly as she released my hand. I knew to obey her, and turned around. Yet curiosity got the best of me, and I turned back to watch her. Her back straightened, her hair turned from white to black, and her bedroom duster changed into a stylish dress like she wore in the 1940's. From the right her youngest sister Jean came down the grassy hill to join her, then from the left came her sister Lucille (both years gone). The three linked arms and headed towards a rise in the road, talking animatedly. Over the rise came their mother, my beloved Grandma. They all hugged and disappeared over the hill. I ran up the grassy hill on the right to see where they went. Below, in a wide valley, were more than a  hundred picnic tables. People dressed in period clothing sat enjoying a picnic. As Mom, her sisters, and mother walked up everyone stood up and began to clap. Some I recognized like her Aunty Kathryn, her father, Mom's dear Aunt and Uncle, her beloved cousins and her Granny came over to hug her. (end of dream)


I asked Mom that last day if she remembered me telling her about that dream. She shook her head "yes" and smiled. I told her that could be how heaven is, and soon she would know if it were. Then I kissed her hand and cheek. Her eyes told me goodbye. I ran to my husband Mick's waiting hug.

On Sunday evening at 7 o'clock on September 4th, Mom left earth. Three days later at her graveside, at my father's request, I shared my dream and her smile after my sister Cari read her own beautiful tribute.

And it was all as Mom hoped, as loving as ever.

"No More"

Per request, here is one of my favorite pieces. I wrote this to challenge the way I had been living, as a victim. These words became proof that I had survived, moved on, and was learning to be mentally and emotionally healthy.

NO MORE

No shadow figures lurking

No demons in the mirror

No fear in living alone

No risk in old mementos

No pain in my eyes

No catch in my breath

No hesitation in my voice

No weakness in my walk

No going back to before

No more

LSP copyright 1999

Our Hummingbird

Amazingly, a ruby-throated hummingbird has taken to resting on a tree branch inches away from our office window. That the tree is artificial only deepens the mystery. (We use the tree as a natural-looking privacy screen.) Close by are pines and palms, which seem much more inviting. Mick and our cat Iris delight in watching this tiny creature. When Mick decided the bird would make regular visits, he filmed it and named it "Harry."

We have lived here nearly five years and no bird or other has claimed the green/plum tree as their own. Harry's has been coming every afternoon for three weeks now. Every intrigued by close encounters of the animal kind, I reread the hummingbird piece in Ted Andrews' Animal Speak (Llewellyn Publications 2003). In his depiction of each creature's significance, Mr. Andrews drew from the traditions of Native Americans, and other cultures about the symbology and sacredness of all beings.

This time, Harry's visit seemed to be especially for Mick. According to Mr. Andrews, "Hummingbirds are master architects. They build their homes with great care and design... If the hummingbird has taken up residence in [with] you, you may wish to redecorate." (Page 159.) The weekend of Harry's first visit, Mick had begun his latest home project of organization and design; rearranging our furniture, art, and accessories.

Each time a bird of other creature shows up unexpectedly, I am also inspired by this advisory: "But ask the beasts, and they will teach you."(Old Testament/Job 12:7) I choose to ask, often in prayer, what lessons the latest encountered creature is here to teach me. I have loved and learned from visits from a Blue Heron, a Turkey Vulture, various butterflies, different ducks, Hummingbirds, a Red Fox, a baby Bobcat, two Dolphins twice in one summer and on different coasts, a Border Collie, and multiple Harris Hawks.

Ode to Harry
The joy is real
It is what I feel
As I spy on you
So still and true
You are a gift
Meant to uplift
To remind and teach
That I should reach
Into my very heart
And consider what part
Needs humming to heal
Honor life's sacred wheel

For Those On Their Way Through

Oh my, so much is happening to so many people I care about... Here is just one example.

My husband reconnected with a childhood buddy two years ago, and has so enjoyed their rekindled friendship. His friend unexpectedly stopped responding to phone calls, emails and texts. Months went by, and then his friend sent an email explanation--that he has colon cancer.

Mick knew to wait as much as he knew I would write something especially for his friend. I pray it helps.


On My Way Through

Weeks of considering
The weight of news
That all is not well
In this body of mine
I pray for so much

Days of requesting
The way I can cope
Through whatever occurs
In this body of mine
I pray for God's healing

Hours of praying
The comfort is real
Their love and support too
In my heart I discover
I know Love's healing touch

Moments of rejoicing
The truth of what matters
The gift we each receive
In this time I have peace
I am on my way through

A Diet of Loving Words

The food we eat physically changes our bodies, painfully illustrated in the 2004 documentary "Super Size Me" about a man who ate only fast food for a year. Some food for thought, what if we feed our selves and others a diet of loving words?  I believe our bodies, minds, and spirits would benefit.

More than a year ago, my friend Jennifer Linder-Anderson advised me to say, "Bless your heart" to someone who regularly went off around and at me. Up until that moment I had spent my energy trying not to let those verbal tirades get to me, and it was not working.

Offering that phrase instead of reacting to that person's negativity has changed things for me. Yes, it took time, effort and patience but I have made a habit of thinking/saying "Bless your heart" with all my heart. A wonderful lesson on my healing quest-- Thank you, Jennifer.

Just Words


"Bless your heart"
Not so easy to say
In prayer, with time
These words flow
Like a natural spring

"Bless your heart"
A loving thing to say
In all times, and situations
These words impact
Like a healing balm