The Sign

My dad looked much better when I Skyped him yesterday. His color was back and his eyes were not puffy or swollen. The product of "A good night's sleep," he told me. He went swimming again too: good for the brain and the body.

In his own way I believe my dad said "Goodbye" to my mother on Christmas Day. He wasn't able to do it beforehand. Although it may seem silly, my dad needed some kind of 'sign' from my mother telling him that she was at peace in the afterlife. Until the 'sign' appeared, he wouldn't feel she was at rest. Soon after Mother died, he told me as much.

During the exact moment that my mother passed away we were gathered around my parent's dining table. We sat listening to the lyrics of the song, 'Remember When' by Alan Jackson. The music played softly from their CD player, nearby. This was my parent's special song. Their favorite song. The meaning of the words were both personal and intimate to them.

On Christmas Eve, the day before my father's 78th birthday, he went to my Aunt Mary Ann's (my mother's closest sister) for dinner before attending church. She gave him a birthday card in a plain blue envelope; asking him not to open it until the next day. In honor of her wishes my father waited until the the next morning. He was of course, all alone in the house thinking of my mother. This was his first Christmas and birthday without her. She had only been gone a little over a month. A CD played the melody, 'Remember When.'

The birthday card from my aunt sat on the kitchen counter. Dad picked it up and opened it. It was a sentimental card. Printed inside were several lines carrying messages and memories of long ago. The front of the card however, began with only two words: 'Remember When.'

My aunt knew nothing of the song that played the moment of my mother's passing. She did not know it held a personal meaning to my parents. She didn't know the music or the lyrics. She simply liked the sentiments of the card, and purchased it on a whim a few days before.

Finally, my father received the 'sign' he had been waiting for.

The Mask

I telephoned my father this morning to ask how his Christmas and birthday went last Saturday.

Together with my brother Dave, my dad went to spend the holiday with my youngest brother Dan, who lives about thirty miles north in the heart of old-town Phoenix. I am so glad Dad got out of his house during his birthday and Christmas. His home is far too full of my mother's memories which would have been particularily hard on him so soon after her passing.

The perfect Christmas tree that I put up for my mother is still sitting on the hearth of my parent's fireplace. Hanging from two separate 'snowy' pine branches are the personalized ornaments sent by my sister Brenda: the heart with all of our names on it and the silver angel engraved with 'Mom'.

For the first time in over fifty years my father didn't see any brightly wrapped presents underneath the 'perfect' tree. No wrappings of colored foil paper; no bows in assorted Christmas hues; no needlepoint stockings hung from his fireplace mantle; no enticing aromas of roasted turkey or lemon meringue pie wafted from his kitchen. My mother, his partner in life was not there to do it for him this year. She is gone, forever. I doubt if her passing had ever felt so 'real' to him as it did last Saturday, Chistmas Day.

I Skyped Dad later this afternoon. He answered, but for the first time in weeks he didn't look very well to me. The holiday season has taken quite a toll on him. More than I expected to see. His hair looked a bit grayer, his bright blue eyes a little more dull, and his face appeared puffy and tired. Of course, he did his best to act like everything was fine, but even that attempt was not up to par. There were long, uncomfortable pauses during much of our conversation. Very unusual for the two of us. Our chatting typically flows very easily.

Perhaps my dad simply needs to recuperate from all of last week's festivities. Having to celebrate such a big holiday as Christmas, on the very same day as his birthday is often weary for him in a 'good' year. Having to do it for the first time with my mother no longer alive must have been immensely trying.

Everyone else it seems, has a bright and happy face at Christmastime. I'm sure my dad did his best to put on the same for everyone around him that day. But inside, deep within his heart and soul, he must have felt very alone. Inside, he was not smiling. My dear father mearly wore a temperary mask deemed necessary for the sake of all others.

Of course my father's heart is still broken. What do I expect?

Material Gifts of Christmas

Today I couldn't help but think of the material gifts I received for Christmas. I hadn't asked for anything. Who does at my age??!! Because of my mother's death I never seemed to capture much of the holiday spirit until the very week of Christmas. Receiving gits never crossed my mind. For days I was thankful to just get through the pain and loss of losing Mom. Even today, I'm not sure if I ever really will. But, for much of that I am glad. I believe that my mother is always with me in some, small way. Never-the-less, my family together with a kind neighbor and a long-time dear friend brought me a few fabulous surprises.

From my husband, Gary I received warm and fuzzy (but very stylish) pajamas, fluffy slipper boots (I'm perpetually cold), a new Christmas CD (I love music), and a signed, First-Edition copy of a novel written by my favorite author, Dominick Dunne. I am thrilled!

In addition to the above, my son, Jayson and his wife, Nichole purchased a gift-card for me and my husband to a new movie theatre here in town. It is quite unique, with the seating arrangement reminding me of the 'first class' section found in airplanes. The theatre itself is very intimate (reservations only), and has room for only about twenty people. The rugged leather chairs recline and are heated to keep the patron toasty warm throughout the show. Best of all, a small table is placed at each 'couples seating,' allowing for food and drink. A waiter quietly waits on each person throughout the movie, whispering 'Today's Special,' in addition to serving other 'real food' such as burgers, fries, ribs, chicken, salads, and the like. Movie treats including candy, popcorn, and various drinks are also included. We can't wait to go for this one-of-a-kind movie experience! I'm sure it will be great fun, especially since we're total movie aficionados.

My youngest son, Justin gave me the most beautiful card (which would have been more than enough). In it he wrote a touching note telling me how much he loved me and thanking me for being such a great mom to him throughout the years. I cried tears of joy while reading it. Who could ask for more? He also added a Macy's gift card and two tickets to a great play next month at our local professional Repertory Theatre. A wonderful 'date night' to look forward to next month!

A sweet neighbor surprised us on Christmas night with a darling 'Santa' box filled with chocolate covered pretzels and marshmallows dipped in white chocolate trimmed with red and green sprinkles. A separate bag of treats was provided for our dog, Doodles. He's already half way through them. I'm trying to hold off (as long as I can) on the pretzels and marshmallows. I have a real sweet tooth so I know I won't last long!

Finally, a very dear friend from Junior High School sent me a new, prized possession. My friend, Rose, lives in St. Charles, Michigan. Coincidentally this is the same little town where my mother was born and raised during her early years. This special friend surprised me with a box containing numerous and orderly typed pages depicting my genealogy. My eyes absorbed this fascinating history of my past, which details the lives of my ancestors born in Whales, all the way back to the 1700's. I couldn't put it down and read much of it on the spot!

The above gift means more than I can say. My friend took her own valuable time to trudge through knee-high, crunchy snow banks in piercing cold weather to locate the graves of my past relatives who are now resting in various local cemeteries. I can picture Rose now: all bundled up in a fur-trimmed, hooded parka in the hopes of shielding herself from winter's chill. She's driving down treacherous two-lane, icy-covered roads in order to stop to wipe frosted snowflakes off ancient tombstones; trying to find the correct names that will fulfill her mission. Somehow, someway, she did it. Thank you Rose. I will treasure this gift always.

Of course, I can't possibly leave out the package I received earlier this morning. It actually arrived last Friday: Christmas Eve. But, because our mailman won't drive to our house to deliver anything, the package went directly to our local post office. I wasn't able to retrieve it until today. As soon as I returned home I eagerly ripped away the brown outer paper only to discover a generously sized bag of home-made caramel corn. What a delicious and thoughtful surprise!

The above gift came from Rose, the same dear friend who did my genealogy history. During an e-mail not long ago, she mentioned that she was about to make home-made caramel corn in preparation for the holidays. The mere mention of this delectable confection made my mouth water! Through a message back to her I relayed a true story of my one and only attempt at making the same. After what seemed like hours of manual labor and many dollars of ingredients, my caramel corn ended up all sticky and gooey: unable for human consumption. How thoughtful of her to send me her own; a true gift from her heart (and hands). I'm munching on it now and it is absolutely delicious!

It's true that material gifts are not the true meaning of Christmas, nor should they ever be. As I said before, Christmas is about the the birth of Jesus, the love of family, being together, and sometimes even miracles such as the ones I experienced for myself, last week. But together with the true meaning of Christmas sometimes comes a few material surprises.

I'm not complaining. I appreciate each and every one of them!

Christmas Memories of Mother

Christmas morning! I awoke to the sun peeking out above the snow-covered hill in our back yard. A single doe was stood very stately and looked back at me as I gazed out into the first morning light. What a beautiful and appropriate first site of Christmas morning. Pure nature: God's work. It all seemed so right.

After letting Doodles outside, I put on a pot of coffee and pre-heated the oven for my Christmas breakfast dish: a french-toast casserole recipe from my good friend, Patti. I warmed the various syrups (regular and sugar-free), and sliced the fruit. The dining table had been pre-set for Christmas brunch last night. Every thing this morning was pretty easy. After letting Doodles inside, I wiped his paws with a kitchen towel. They were full of clumps of snow from him playing in the yard. He jumped on the sofa with me while I drank my morning coffee: a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of Christmas Day began.

Soon, the kids were all up, my Grand-dog was let outside, and stockings were pulled from their hooks on the fireplace mantel. One-by-one, we emptied them of their tiny treasures; a Christmas tradition from long ago. It was fun to see what 'Santa' had brought each of us. Brightly-colored hair bands and hand lotion for Nichole, a new CD for Jayson, Justin's favorite cologne, mini-puzzles for Gary, and pretty earrings for me.

Next, I called my Dad to wish him a 'Happy Birthday.' Although Christmas is all about celebrating Jesus' birthday, it is my father's birthday too. I never forget to telephone him during the first part of the morning, before any presents are opened or breakfast is served. "Happy Birthday, Dad," I yelled into the phone. "Kim, is that you," he teased. "Thanks, Honey. How's everything going over there?" I told him all about our rare 'white Christmas' in St. Louis: the first in eight years. "It's so pretty outside, Dad. I wish you could see it."

My father went on to tell me how much he enjoyed dinner at my Aunt's house last night and how lovely his church service had been. He said he missed all of us, and went on to tell me that he put on Mom's Christmas tree lights earlier this morning, while it was still dark in the desert sky. He hadn't lit her tree since I left Arizona, and today it was appropriate. He placed his favorite picture of her next to the newly lit tree, told her 'Merry Christmas' and sat down in her favorite chair; covering his bare legs with her prayer shawl. Of course in telling me this he started to cry. My heart broke for him and I too, began to tear up. I reminded him of how much she loved him...of how much she knew he loved her. "It's okay to cry, Dad," I told him. "We all miss her, especially today."

Our breakfast brunch was delicious. Patti's recipe will be repeated next year. Every one has agreed! After clearing the Christmas china from the table, we put on holiday tunes and sat by the fire. Nichole was the designated 'Santa' this year: doling out presets one at a time to each member of the family. Not many to go around this year, but no one seemed to notice. Or, if they did they didn't mind. Every one received gifts they liked or had wished for, and all were happy in the end. Being together was extra special this Christmas. I'm not sure if it was due to the loss of my mother (my children's grandmother) just a few weeks before. Or maybe it was the possible loss of Jayson earlier in the week. Whatever the reason, we all feel truly blessed this year. Blessed to be alive, blessed to have each other, blessed to be able to celebrate the season together.

All too soon breakfast was eaten; the gifts were unwrapped; crinkled paper was thrown away; foil bows and cardboard boxes were saved for next year; time came for the kids to leave for their next round of celebration. Jayson, Nichole and my Grand-dog were on their way to her parents farm in western Missouri for a weekend of sledding, cross-country skiing, and eating more turkey. Justin was expected for an afternoon of watching football with his friends. We helped them load up their cars with gifts, clothing, and dishes of leftover food. Justin reaped the benefit of most of the food. He was the single one. After today he has enough leftovers to feed his roommates for at least a day or two. My Christmas gift to all of them!

We shut the door behind us; the sudden quietness of the house seemed deafening to our ears. Doodles looked up at us with sad eyes, already missing his play-mate. I felt sad too, as I always do whenever the kids drive away. Ever since they left the nest, it's never been the same. An occasional visit is all I get now, but for that I am thankful. I have raised them to be independent. They have their own lives to live and I wouldn't have it any other way. Gary went downstairs to watch football while I grabbed my new book to begin reading.

My mind wandered to Christmases past when I was a child. How my mother loved Christmas!!! No one ever did Christmas like Mom did. My childhood home was decorated from room to room in all it's seasonal splendor. A tall, live blue spruce tree traditionally sat in the front window for all to see. Shiny ornaments sparkled and danced on each branch with rainbow-colored lights placed perfectly between them. Miniature dolls played house on faux snow covered window sills, and Dad's boy-hood train chugged on HO tracks placed around the tree; it's whistle blowing puffs of black smoke.

My mother was very poor as a child. I think Christmas was her time to 'make-up' for what she never had, herself. Stacks and stacks of pristine wrapped presents mingled beneath our tree: too many to count. Yet, my mother always knew how many gifts she purchased. There were five of children in our family and she made sure that each and every one of us had exactly the same number of gifts. No one ever had one less or one more. She even had a specific way of displaying the presents around the tree. She presented them in such a way so that there was never a bundle of presents for one child sitting in one place. Instead, each child had gifts evenly dispersed all around (and beyond) the bottom of the tree skirt. This way, 'Santa' never had the unfortunate opportunity to give two gifts in a row to the same child. Mother made sure that everything was always equal: right down to the number of trinkets in our Christmas stockings.

Speaking of stockings, ours were gifts in and among themselves. They were always filled beyond their brim; overflowing with delightful treasures. Some inside were wrapped and some were not. Before long I learned that the 'extra-special' stocking gifts were wrapped in colored foil paper and tied with curling ribbon. How I loved to rip open the the tiny foiled boxes! To my delight, I usually found a shiny new piece of jewelry embedded with colored gemstones hidden under a square of soft protective cotton. Real or not, each and every piece was a newly cherished possession.

Oh, and there was Christmas dinner! No one ever cooked or baked like my mother. Days and days before the holiday she began to roll out dough with her red handled, wooden rolling pin. Before long, creamy colored dough rolled in white flour covered every inch of our kitchen counter tops. Dough for pie crusts, cookie dough, bread dough, and dough for noodles. My mother baked pies from scratch (freshly squeezed lemon was her speciality) and roasted range- free turkey butchered from the farm in the next little town. No one ever left the table hungry and if they did it was their own fault. Mom always had enough food for at least twenty people (usually more), and leftovers were gobbled up with delight.

I find it only fitting that this Christmas evening I'm thinking of my mother. The first Christmas I must celebrate without her. The first Christmas where I didn't call her with exciting news of presents just received. The first Christmas that I couldn't brag to her of how well her recipes turned out for me. The first Christmas I am truly missing her. The first Christmas I know she is gone; never to share the holiday with me again.

This is the first Christmas filled of memories from my childhood spent with Mother, not so very long ago. Blessings from the past. Miracles from the present. Hopefulness for the future.

Merry Christmas Mother. I love you.

It's a Wonderful Life

Christmas Eve is here! I arose early to start my cooking. My sons' and daughter-in-law will be here for our traditional Christmas dinner at 5:00 sharp. It will be a feast of my mother's home-made noodles (of course), ham, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, salads, vegetables, rolls, and desserts. The table is all set with my prized Christmas china and matching crystal goblets; the presents wrapped; the traditional holiday music is playing for all to hear.

The door bell rang about 10:00 this morning. At the front door was a local flower delivery man with the most beautiful of Christmas centerpieces I had ever seen. The arrangement is made up of Christmas tree greenery, red & white sparkling candy canes, red roses, white carnations, and wired, decorated holiday ribbon. In the middle, a clear glass hurricane lamp covers a candy-cane striped pillar candle. I immediately filled the base with fresh water and opened the card. It simply read, "Love, the Kirks." For a moment I was confused. The only 'Kirks' left in my family (Kirk is my maiden name) consist of my father and two brothers. If my dad sent me the flowers, why didn't he sign it, 'Love, Dad,' or something to that effect?

After placing the flowers in the center of my dining room table (where it looked absolutely stunning) I called my father to thank him. "Hi Daddy, I got your flowers and they are beautiful," I told him, all excited. "I love them, and put them right in the middle of our dining room table. We'll light the candle tonight and all say a special prayer before dinner. They are from you, aren't they?" I asked.

"Sure, Honey, I sent them," Dad replied. "I tried to pick out something special that I thought you girls might like." He told me he sent each of my sisters the same arrangement which I knew they would adore. "Just one thing, Dad, why did you sign the card the way you did? I wasn't exactly sure who it was from." My father paused, carefully measuring his words.

"Because," he answered," the flowers are really from me and your mother," he continued in broken words. "But I didn't want to sign the card that way because I was afraid I'd make you cry." My loving father, having the forethought to comfort and protect me from crying, made himself break down once again. My father is such a special man. The most unselfish person that I've ever known. "Oh Daddy, that is such a sweet thing to do. In my heart I knew they were from both of you. You are so thoughtful."

This was an especially hard week for my father. I tried desperately to change the subject and to lighten the conversation. "Did you go swimming this morning?" I asked him. "Yes, I went to work-out early," he answered. "And, I'm having dinner with your Aunt Mary Ann (my mom's oldest sister) tonight before going to church afterward."

Happily, I told my dad how glad I was that he was having dinner with my Aunt and her family, and how peaceful I thought going to church would be for him. "The church will be beautiful I bet," I told him. You can just sit in peace, say your prayers and absorb all the Christmas pagentry."

Thanking Dad again for the flowers, I told him how much I loved him. Tomorrow he's going to my brother's home for dinner. How thankful I am that he won't be home alone on Christmas Day. Tomorrow also happens to be Dad's 78th birthday. Instead of celebrating, I bet it will be another hard hurdle for him to overcome. Another cross to bear. Not only is it going to be his first Christmas without my mother, but it will also be his first birthday without her. It almost doesn't seem fair. But life is not fair, is it? Sadly, there will be none of Dad's favorite home-made German chocolate birthday cake at his dining table this year. No little Christmas presents hidden by Mom, no special little birthday gifts set aside in order to make his birthday a special celebration apart from the other holiday. This Christmas is going to be hard. Everything is coming far too fast since she has passed. If only we could all have a little more time.

My children showed up at the house in all of their Christmas finery close to our projected dinner hour. They brought an extra set of clothes and toiletries in order to stay overnight: the perfect Christmas gift for me! Earlier today, I dressed their respective bedrooms for the holiday with red patchwork comforters, white lace bed skirts, and velvet throw pillows. Miniature snow-men night lights are just outside their doors, and their bathroom decor is now changed to candy-cane towels, crimson throw rugs, and peppermint soap. We will all celebrate the holiday together. Family: this is what Christmas is all about.

Before beginning dinner, I said a very special prayer thanking God for our many blessings; for our 'miracles.' My new daughter-in-law, Nichole joined the family this past summer and Justin is doing very well at the new job he started this past Spring. I thanked the Lord for the miracle He gave us in saving Jayson's life (and all of the others) from his car accident only two days before. And, a special blessing was said for the gift of Jayson's diabetic alert dog. He's family too, now. My 'Grand-dog.'

Without crying, I thanked God for the end to Mother's suffering and asked Him to keep her loved and close in his arms. I thanked Him for allowing her to be 'our' angel who is watching over us (as I truly believe), and asked for the gift of peace and harmony for my father in the coming year. My prayer continued a few short seconds to thank God for our generous bounty of food, our terrific family, and a wish for good will in the New Year. After 'Amen' we all dabbed a tear or two with our cloth napkins before toasting to our blessed, Christmas celebration.

Soon after dinner and dessert, the five of us changed into our more comfortable, 'Christmas' pajamas. I wore a cream-colored flannel nightgown trimmed in bright red cardinals: a subliminal message to my mom. Nichole changed into cotton-candy, pink thermal PJ's, and the guys all dressed up in new plaid flannel trousers made in various shades of greens, blues, and reds. Matching long sleeved T-shirts complimented their bottoms, and they all wore some kind of new slippers on their feet. I must say, we all looked good enough for a family portrait to be taken!

Gary started the fireplace and let our dog 'Doodles' out with Jayson's dog to play in the snow. For the first time in eight years we are having a genuine 'White Christmas.' It is beautiful. Stark tree branches now weighing heavy with piled snow look like picture postcards against the ink black evening sky. Next door, the neighbor's holiday lights are dancing on their rooftop, and across the street an inflatable 'Santa' is holding on tight to the reigns of 'Rudolph's sled.

Nichole and I brought out bowls of popcorn and cans of diet soda while the boys searched the hall closet for their favorite board games. For the next few hours our home was filled with laughter and cheer. Together, we all played 'Sorry,' 'Pictionary,' and 'Scrabble,' with Justin coming out on top every time. Tonight, our home felt much like the ending to the movie in 'It's a Wonderful Life.'

After all is said and done with God to thank for it, it really is a wonderful life.

In Spirit

This morning I felt exhausted from the emotions of last night. Jayson had a doctor's appointment to make sure everything was okay early this morning. About 11:00 he called with good news. No, he hadn't seen the doctor yet, but he did just hear (while in the waiting room) that he got a new job he had just interviewed for. It was the exact position he was seeking: highly sought after with tremendous competition. Best of all, the job is right here in ST. LOUIS!!!!!!!

Only this past week Jayson had interviewed for the same position in several different states from Alaska to Maine. The thought of him being separated from Nichole, even for a short time, broke my heart. This was a true blessing. Yet another Christmas miracle! I was so happy I shouted the news to Gary all across the house. Only a week before this particular job in St. Louis wasn't even available. Suddenly Jayson heard of it, applied for it, interviewed for it, and was awarded the position; all in a matter of days. Typically unheard of!

Later this afternoon, we met Jayson and Nichole for lunch to celebrate the good news. His doctor gave him an all clear and he had a new job. How wonderful! How miraculous! Yes God does work in mysterious ways. God and (perhaps) my mother. Nichole is over the moon with joy. They can finally move from their cramped apartment and begin to look for a 'real' home to buy or rent: one with a fenced yard for their dog. And now, Nichole can finish up her Master's Degree and apply for her PHD right here in St. Louis. Lucky for everyone involved!

After celebrating over lunch, I felt in the mood to write a few Christmas cards out. Usually, I write a one page Christmas letter and send it together with a card to about fifty people every year. It's something I enjoy and keeps me in touch with friends and family who don't live nearby. In fact, none of my family and most of my friends don't live nearby. Most of them live out of state. Christmas cards are an important way for me to keep in touch with them at least once a year. But, with my mother's passing and all of the other recent turmoil I didn't feel up to doing them this year. Today, I feel lucky that I'm in the mood to even address a few. I think I have about ten cards written, addressed and ready to mail. Not many, but better than none.

My dad called today. I told him about Jayson's accident and how I thought Mother had something to do with 'our' miracle. So many things could have gone much, much worse. I don't take it lightly how very lucky we all are. Hearing the story, my dad was thrilled beyond measure that Jayson and everyone else (including his dog) were all right. Still, I could hear him choking up a bit when I mentioned Mother 'helping' to save him. Dad believes it too. He is happy of course, but he misses her so.

"Yes, I looked at your mother's picture just a minute ago," he said. "I always touch her face and give her a little kiss whenever I pass by," he added. I could tell he was crying. "I know how much you love her still, Daddy," I said to him. "She knows.....she loves you back."

"I have to go," my father choked back his words with tears. "I love you and I'll call you later."

The closer it gets to Christmas the harder it is on my father. aftr all, it is only a month since her passing. One month and five days when Christmas Day arrives. My parents spent nearly 57 years together. It will take much longer than a month for his pain to lesson. Every time I hear my father's choked words, my heart breaks for him. The thought of him being home alone in his house at this time of year is gut wrenching for me. How I wish I could do something more for him.

My dad reminds me of the fact that my mother is gone from this earth but never, ever forgotten. She's here for my father and she's here all of us

In miracles and in spirit.

Chistmas Miracles

The ice has melted. I was right. It was warmer yesterday. Not enough to melt all of the snow, but enough to melt the ice. Now, the streets and sidewalks around our home feel safe again. The ice is gone, leaving patches of frosted white powder nearly everywhere we look.

My husband took me to a movie this afternoon, trying to get my mind off the sadness of not having my mother with me this Christmas. We went to see The Fighter, a terrific true-story about two boxing brothers from Boston. The actor, Christian Bale's performance was mesmerizing. Surely, he'll be nominated for all of the upcoming awards this season. We sat together all snuggled blissfully in the very back row, eating warm buttered popcorn and sharing a Coke. We felt like two teenagers newly in love. My mind was not on anything but the very present. How nice!

On the way home, our car braked at a stop sign where a deer ran across the road. I started crying. "What's wrong?" my husband asked. "The deer is safe. We weren't going to hit it." he added.

"No, it's not the deer." I answered, blowing my nose. "I want to call my mom, to tell her about the movie. But, I know that I can't." Something as little as telling my mother about a movie had taken on a whole new meaning.

At that very second my husband's cell phone rang. "Hello," he said, picking it up. "Hello, hello?" No one answered him. I'm being totally honest. No one was on the other end of the phone line. How could that be? At the very instant I thought of calling my mother, our own phone rang. I know I'm not the first person to have something like this happen.........something perhaps from 'above' or 'beyond.' It's a coincidence, I know. Still............

After dinner tonight we settled in to watch television. I don't even remember what was on. At 7:45 our daughter-in-law, Nichole called. "Have you heard from Jayson, " she asked, her voice shaking. My stomach dropped. My son, Jayson, has insulin dependant diabetes. The fact that Nichole was calling to see if we had heard from him was an instant alarm bell. No, we had not not heard from him.

Nichole went on to tell us that Jayson had called her while driving home from work to let her know that he was only about five minutes away from their apartment. That was thirty minutes before. Jayson was still not home and he was not picking up his cell phone. I told her to call the police to explain the situation and to stay right where she was. We were on our way.

On the ride to Jay & Nichole's apartment, we couldn't stop praying. There was no doubt that our son, Jayson had been in a car accident. His many years of living with diabetes left him prone to low blood sugar episodes, although never while driving a car. We had even purchased and trained a diabetic alert dog for him earlier in the year (a future blog) which has been a life saver. We knew his dog was with him so we prayed for him, too. The dog was his life-line. "Please God, let them be okay," we said in unison, over an over. We prayed for our son, we prayed for any others that might have been in the accident with him, and we prayed for our son's diabetic alert dog.

Nichole called back to tell us that the police had called her. She had heard sirens nearby. The police told her that Jayson was in an accident at a VERY busy intersection a block away from their apartment. The police told her the accident was 'diabetic-related,' but that Jayson was 'okay.' Nichole was crying. She didn't know anything more, but she was on her way to the accident site. We told her we were on our way too, and would meet her there shortly.

Minutes later we approached the accident's intersection. Red and yellow lights revolved above police cars and an ambulance. Traffic was stopped while a tall man in a police uniform directed traffic with his flashlight. Our hearts raced. We couldn't drive up to the intersection so we turned our car to go around the block. There we parked our car and raced on foot through the stopped traffic nearly the accident site. My body was running on pure adrenalin. I peered inside my son's mangled car. The front end looked like an accordion. Two more damaged cars (not nearly as bad) were stopped in front of his. The intersection's light was red.

Not finding our son, we raced to the ambulance and peered inside the back windows. Nichole was with him. He was lying on a stretcher; an I.V. protruding from his left arm. He was alive. Alert and talking. Looking good, even. We went inside to see him and speak to the attending paramedics. My whole body was shaking. "Your son had his own Christmas miracle tonight," one attendant said. "He had his seat belt on and his airbag went off to protect him. His blood sugar was, 33." Thirty-three was so very low. "He wasn't conscious when we pulled him from the car. He came around when we started the glucose into his vein. His blood sugar is 220: a little high but he's okay now," the paramedic told me.

My dog?" Jayson wondered aloud. "Where's my dog?" The EMT told us these were the first words out of his mouth as soon as he became conscious. He was worried (rightly so) about his beloved dog. The paramedics said they didn't even know a dog was in the car. He's black (a British Lab) so they couldn't see him all scrunched up in the back seat near the window. He had wet himself and was scared to death. The policeman had gently coached him from the car and walked him safely to his own squad car; putting him inside where he'd be warm and safe. Thank God. Another Christmas miracle.

We learned that there were indeed, two other cars in the accident. Jayson had passed out due to unexplained low blood sugar and rear-ended a car, who rear-ended another car. They were both stopped at the intersection's red light. We had no way of knowing how fast Jayson's car had been going. But we could see that was a major impact. His car was irreparable; the other two amazingly not so bad. But most importantly, no one in the other cars were hurt. No one even went to a hospital. Thank God. Thank God the two cars in front of Jayson were stopped at the red light. I hate to think of what might have happened had my son's car crossed through the intersection. More Christmas miracles.

Other than being sore, Jayson felt pretty good. He wanted to get his dog and go home. While his car was being towed I signed some paperwork so Gary could get Jayson's dog. He checked him over and led him to Nichole's car. Soon, Jayson was released to Nichole. We piled into her car and drove towards their apartment. Jayson started crying; he felt so guilty. So guilty of something he had no control over. He was always so very careful, especially before driving. He didn't deserve to go through this. "I just wish I could be normal," he said. In nearly 19 years I had rarely heard him cry or say such a thing. Nichole comforted him while I led his dog into their apartment. I called his doctor (his insulin pump's numbers would have to be adjusted) while Nichole began giving him food to keep his blood sugar up.

Our drive home was loud with silence. Each of our minds wrapped in their own myriad of 'what ifs'. I though of how bad the accident was and of how much worse it could have been. I thought of how my son's life (and all of the others) had been spared. I didn't cry until I crawled into bed. The tears began to flow uncontrollably. Yet, I was reminded of what the paramedic said to me earlier in the night. "Your son had his own Christmas miracle tonight." Yes he did. Thank you God. We all did.

Before long my mind wandered to the evening of my mother's passing. Soon afterward, I prayed to her: asking Mother to be my son's guardian angel from heaven. I prayed for her to watch over him and protect him. Jayson had always been her favorite grandchild, partly because of the many challenges he faced in life. That night, I prayed for her to hear me. Tonight, I knew she had.

Yes, there were many Christmas miracles tonight. I couldn't help but think that my mother had been a part of them in some small way. Perhaps in a very big way. My mother and God, of course.

Thank you Mom.