It is the season of hope and joy, although I strain to find either. Everyone has his or her sorrows, and these are mine.
The leaves have all fallen, and the naked trees thrust their barren branches straight up into the graying sky in disappointed supplication. I see vistas revealed that were previously hidden by the foliage – the horizon opens up – there is a factory in the distance, a power plant perhaps, still sending up steam into the sky on Christmas eve. It looks lonely.
It’s cold, but not bitter, not quite yet – the kind of cold you test by blowing out a breath, seeing the fog form then waiting for a moment as the breeze caresses your skin before nodding in acquiescence. This is not so very bad. And anyway this is what we have, the weather is what it is and nothing to be done for it.
It will have to do.
We are all here together, all of us but one. The fact that the rest of us are there is a comfort to the others, we take turns needing each other, needing support, needing love. In an unusual inversion of responsibilities, my children throw their arms around me, ask me if I’m all right, if there’s anything at all that they can do.
We got in late, 11pm but everyone was waiting for us and we hugged and told tales and ate a bit. Some people you notice when they’re present, and some you notice when they’re absent, but Ann you noticed either way: I looked around at one point because we were at home in the warm and loving embrace of our family. Everyone was there but one, and she was the one who was always there if any of us were. But now she was the only one person missing, and I was not yet used to her not being there. The same was true at lunch the next day, a restaurant in Old Town that she favored, not far from her house. And once again I found myself looking around to see where she had gone because none of this made sense as of yet in her absence and now I’m not quite sure we’ll ever go back there again. Because it’s different.
That night we sat around the table with our glasses of wine and discussed what had been decided, the hows and wheres of what will follow after. There was still that mute and empty place at the table.
I knew where she was of course – we’d visited yesterday morning, and yes it was hard. She’d gone from ICU to the hospice wing, which is a development we had not anticipated and came as a result of decisions that I might not have acceded to if such had been asked of me. But they were in consonance with Ann’s oft-expressed wishes, and it was none of my place to make such decisions, nor mine to re-open old scars. No pain, we were advised – she is in no pain – and the morphine drip assured me that this was so. Very clearly dying, barely conscious, really in and out, unfocused too, she responded to our voices with a flutter of the eyes and a moan, this woman who not so very long ago could move mountains by dint of mere will and who walked into this place not ten days ago under her own power and in high heels and a Saint John’s suit. She tried to speak from time to to time but the only thing she ever said that I could make out was, “Help me.”
And God help me, after all that she’d done in life for me and mine, I could not. I could not.
Now usually when we’re at one sister’s house in Virginia for the holidays and the phone rings at something around 11am it’s the other to find out what will be the plan of the day, whither shall we dine, what adventures will follow. The ringing of the phone brought no good news today at 11am on Christmas Eve, 2005. Rather it brought the news that our sister had left this life, this vale of tears behind her. We reassembled at the place she was, all of us but the smallest of us, and we said our goodbyes and gave our thanks and asked her to say hello for us to our parents. We told her that we loved her and would keep her vision of a family alive, the thing in life that made her happiest. We had us a right good cry or two the kinds of sobs that shake you and you don’t care who sees. I don’t know that we’re done with all of that quite yet for there are still a few hard things remaining to us. Those we will deal with as they come to us, sufficient to the day being the evil therein.
So now it is upon us, Christmas of 2005. The presents are wrapped under the tree, many of them bearing her name since she was always as forehanded and organized as her brother is not. It was always her joy to watch the little ones, and the big ones too as they opened their gifts on a Christmas Eve, that being our custom. And we shall open our gifts tonight after our supper, since we must carry on but this Christmas season our joy is the bittersweet joy that her pain is ended while we that stay behind are left to reckon with her loss, and our hope is that we shall all meet again in that great by and by, that being the promise made to us two thousand years ago or so.
It will have to do.
Our prayers tonight for your sister and for you and your family and for all the other families who face this time in sorrow and in hope.
Lex,
Your family will be in our thoughts and prayers throughout this holiday. I am glad that you were able to be there with your family.
Bryan
Lex: My wife and I send our sincerest condolences on your family’s loss.
Please accept my sympathy for your loss, Lex. It is always hard to lose a loved one. Yes, you will meet again in a happier place.
Share happy and humerous stories of her life with your children. Pass on her memory to the generation that follows. It helps to ease the pain somewhat to share laughter about incidents in the life of a friend who is gone.
Thank you for taking the time to let us know. My deepest sympathy condolences to you and your family, Lex. I too believe you will meet again. May the thought comfort you all.
Greetings of the Season
…And if you can spare a moment for someone whose Christmas is far less than merry, and are among the friends and admirers of Lex, please leave him a note of encouragement. His dearly beloved sister passed away this morning.
My deepest sympathy goes out to you and your family. Keeping y’all in my prayers.
CAPT Lex, you, Ann, and your family will continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. Have as Merry a Christmas as possible; I am sure Ann would want it that way as I have come to know her the past weeks through your writings of her. I am sure that God saw her as soon as St. Peter let her in and gave her a big ol’ hug and said “welcome.” You could see it in her face; that picture you showed us; she was a kind and gentle woman, this I am sure, and as a result, it merited her a place in Heaven. I know this may not be of any matter to you now, but after some time, I am sure you will be glad she is there and not here. Just remember what Heaven is.
Stay well, sir.
Skipper,
To echo my earlier words…
Celebrate her life, and celebrate that she is with Our Lord, her pain is gone, and it is for her that a wee baby was born in Bethlehem on a cold winter’s night, so many years ago…
It’s okay to weep, but don’t forget that it is also okay to laugh – You know she would have you make merry…
God Bless you and your family.
You and yours are in my thoughts and prayers, Captain. God bless.
Weep now and let the tears carry the aching with them.
Weep until all sorrow is gone, then fill the emptiness with memories of her laughter, her kindness and her love…
May God bless you and your family–may He write this sorrow in the sand and carve the healing in stone.
I’m so sorry, Capt Lex. Praying (and shedding some tears) for you all.
I’m so sorry. I cry for you and your family. And it all seems so hollow in print…
May God keep you in these next few days and may the good memories of her keep you warm. God Bless you and your family, Lex.
Lex, My heart goes out to you and your family in this time of loss. Please accept my deepest sympathy on losing your beloved sister.
Captain,
I lost both parents to cancer, my mother in 1988 and my father in 2002. So, for what it’s worth, I feel for you. Mere words cannot express the grief that one feels in a situation like this, for when someone who is such a key part of your life passes away, a part of you passes with them. My heartfelt condolences to you and your family, sir.
“The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quite you with His love.He will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17
In this, the day in which we celebrate the birth of our savior, may his peace serve as a balm for you and your loved ones.
I too lost a dear family member on Christmas Eve. Though his loss was deeply felt on that blessed day, we now see it as an honor to have him called home on such an important day; he departed as Baby Jesus was arriving.
Our prayers are with you and your family, LEX.
You are all very kind, on behalf of my family you have our thanks.
Lex,
Don’t know you except for your public face, but I know how it feels to lose a loved one. I hope and will pray that you find solace and what peace there is to be had in your memories of your sister. Until then, don’t despair overmuch; I assure you the pain does pass, leaving only the bittersweet feeling of longing and the warmth of pleasant memories.
All the best, and may Christmas serve you well.
V/R
Capt- My prayers go out to you and your family.
Lex,
You and your family are in my thoughts. As one who lost his mother on Christmas Eve, I empathize. Please accept my sympathies, and may the light shine on you and yours and guide and guard you in the days ahead. If you need to talk, give me a call.
I’m very sorry to hear about the passing of your sister. It is always hard to let go even when you know it was their choosing.
Now you are doing the last thing that you can do for her, which is to do what she asked and to do what she expected.
The best part is the story telling. As you tell each othter stories, its the ritual of rememberence, it re-enforces your memory and you will know she will be with you always.
May God grant you mercy and comfort as he has surely already granted it to your sister.
Revelation 21
3And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.
4And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
*crying*
Oh… Lex…..
I’m so, so, so sorry.
My words will not bring you comfort or peace, but it’s all I have. My namesake was killed on Christmas Eve, along with her 18 month old daughter. It’s been nearly 40 years ago now, so the pain that Christmas Eve used to cause my Dad and his Mom and surviving sister has passed.
She is always in their hearts, as is little Melinda Dawn, her daughter.
Ann will always be with you in your heart and in your mind. Someday, this will bring you peace and you will be able to smile in her memory instead of crying.
Mourn. Cry. Share. and Love.
My condolences, Lex and to your family as well. Words cannot even begin to comfort at this time. Just know that we hold Ann, and you, in our prayers.
You, your family, and all who were friends of Ann have my deepest sympathy.
I will keep all of you in my prayers.
Words fail me, but this I know: She is healed, and you will be reunited.
Share her life with others.
You are in the prayers of our family this night.
Read about this at JoA’s site. You have my sympathies and best wishes; went through something not dissimilar with my Dad not long ago, so I think I may understand a bit of it. May she rest in peace and God comfort the living.
I’m sorry Lex. I don’t know what you feel but I understand how you feel it. Keep the faith. While tough days are ahead, good days are also in the future. Many holidays will now be missing a part of your family. But the family will go on – changed, yes, but still intact. Peace and goodwill.
May God’s love and peace surround you and yours in this time. May the memories you share bring light to the darkness.
My prayers are with you and your family. I’m so very sorry for your loss.
No words can soothe your grief, only time will smooth the edges and make it bearable. Accept my sincerest condolences for your loss. May the Good Lord take your sister to his bosom and grant her everlasting peace.
I’m supposed to be good with words. But I’m not.
I can’t find anything else to say except I’m Sorry Lex.
I’m sorry.
You’re all in my thoughts…
Sir,
I’m so very sorry.
Go with God.
I have never posted a comment here, but I have been visiting to read Rhythms for some time. I was an enlisted Marine, working RADAR on F-4/J and F-4/S Phantoms in the 70′s and 80′s. I have enjoyed your writing, and think it as good as any published military stories. In the midst of that, your current posts of your loss and family have caught me with my emotional guard down. I just enjoyed a good Christmas, with all 4 of my sons home and healthy. I have reflected that will not always be so, and tried to appreciate the blessings of today. Your family’s loss reaches through your words and touches me at my heart.
I have no words of condolence that can possibly matter, but I would have you know that an old Marine has shed a tear and said a prayer for you and yours tonight.
Semper Fidelis,
Mark H.
Sgt. USMC (once, long ago)
My deepest, sincerest sympathies for you and your family!
GBU
Lex, thoughts from the northeast are with you and your family. It’s never a good time, but at Christmas the loss must be magnified. May you all get thru what lies ahead as the closeknit family you seem to be. And may that love sustain you in the years to come as you cope with your loss.
My deepest sympathies.
My condolences and sympathy, Lex. Lord knows the parting is hard, the timing makes it even harder. You and yours are in my prayers.
Lex, my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family for strength and peace of mind.
Dear Captain Lex,
I read with sorrow your earlier posts anticipating this terrible loss. I hadn’t commented; what could I say?
Perhaps this: You have written eloquent and deeply moving tributes to your beloved sister. I know you only through your writing, and never met her, but I can say sincerely that I admire you both.
I’m truly sorry, sir. With best wishes to you and to your family,
Joseph S.
[...] It’s been a month today since my sister passed on. It’s hard to believe. [...]