Advent IV

A year ago next Saturday, Christmas Eve, my father-in-law, Ken Dolan, passed into his eternal home. The next day my wife and her three sisters sat at our Christmas table stunned.  There were words and we all made the best of it but it felt surreal. Something very real had occurred but we all were cushioned by disbelief from the reality he was gone. I say "cushioned" because grief has its own way of unfolding and disbelief is the first reaction, the first experience of loss that allows our hearts to haltingly prepare for the waves of pain to come.

Six days later my wife would have knee replacement surgery and her care overruled most thoughts of the loss of Dad. We were able to get her to his memorial service 10 days after her surgery but those days are such a haze now, nearly a year later.

Seven months and two days later, my mother also went home. It was the day after her 93rd birthday. After a whirlwind weekend with the addition of Monday to the weekend, we made all the confusing steps of an ER visit with my mom, finding a new care facility for her to live in with her new frailties, moving in the few things she would need and moving her out of her apartment that Monday, I received a call that Tuesday from the caregiver telling me she was gone. My mind raced with all the upcoming details as I drove home. My two kids met me at home and the three of us moved mom's things out of the room she'd only occupied since the previous Saturday afternoon.

That afternoon I sat at home alone. Dazed. I thought we would have a couple more weeks.

So here I am, wanting to write something "adventy" but memories of long ago Christmases have knocked me sideways.  From my perspective, Christmas was one of two times a year when Mom was relatively happy and content so I have a small collection of good memories. Remembering does carry its own pain, however. Dad has been gone since 1999. My older sister, Carla, has opted out of the family by disappearing. We had one 20 minute phone conversation in April but since then her phone is disconnected and I have no address for her.  This leaves my younger sister Elizabeth and I to be the sole heirs of these memories.  They are all I have of that home we five were together in on Lime Kiln Road. This is how this works.

Christmas is thorny for us this year. Memories will push and prod and poke.  I will smile at some memories and others will cause the grief of loss of these two important people in my life to cause me to weep tears. I suspect I have company in this season. Everyone has lost a loved one and Christmas causes old memories to stir and surface to once again be looked at. Smiles will be mingled with tears.

But it is Advent, the birth of love, light and our personal salvation into the Heavenly Kingdom. While His birth was noticed by only a few here on earth, a tsunami of change swept the Heavenly Kingdom that holy night. We who believe in Him have been adopted into the Father's household, we are new creatures, the sons and daughters at Abba's table. This hope, this healing love is what I also have during this glorious season of Advent.