Christmas is a joyous time for most, but there are circumstances that can make it difficult or sad for some. When family and friends are suffering through illness, the death of a loved one or the loss of a job, how do we help them get through this difficult time? We need to reach out to them and let them know that we haven’t forgotten them.
To those mourning the loss of a loved one, the sadness will stay for a while, but holding on to the warm memories of the beloved one can give comfort and help ease the emptiness, one day at a time.
A cherished mother shed a few tears before she closed her eyes for the final time. Her son saw this and gently dabbed the tears away.
“She cried tears of joy because we whispered to her that it was all right to leave us,” said the son. “Go Mommy, no heavy heart anymore. Take Daddy’s hand and together with Jesus and Mama Mary, go and take up residence in paradise.”
Things got sadder though because another friend was diagnosed with cancer in the uterus and despite the attempts to arrest the cancer by chemotherapy, it did not stop the cancer from spreading. The doctors moved her to an hospice facility where she was expected to remain for palliative care and pain management. “She won’t last till Christmas,” said the doctors and this was painful to accept. Her children stayed by her side to care for her and to make her as comfortable and as pain-free as can be made possible. When I rang her in Canada, her adopted country, she was cheerful and upbeat and was full of hope that she could win her battle against cancer. That felt good. I called her regularly.
When the chemo regimen failed, it was very difficult to find the right words to say. What can one say to a dying friend? I cleared my throat and asked, “Rosette, do you feel any pain?” She whispered, “Not today.” I knew that she was on a drip where, on demand, she could increase the flow of morphine to her veins. I muttered, “Sette, if you have to board the Heaven Air Express, won’t you come back to me and tell me what heaven is like?” She laughed and with a lilt in her voice replied, “If God would allow me.” “Oh, that’s for sure,” I rejoined. “He would spoil you and grant you every wish you make.”
I continued to call her until her children decided to turn off the ringer in her hospice room; any sound was beginning to disturb her. “Tita,” said her son. “She’s sleeping more and more these days; this is her way of coping with the pain.”
I was torn between flying to Canada to hold her hand, but if she is in pain, to miss her, but also to let her go. “Your friend loves you,” said another. “She knows even in her half consciousness and pain, all your memories together and the affirmation of your love and care even miles away. In her last moment, her family with hearts and souls all wrought up want to focus on her. Give them that privilege. Perhaps, they want their Mom’s best friend to remember her whole and beautiful and not sorely at hospice in excruciating pain, and themselves torn apart. Lift up all your heartache of distance to God and for her, peace and paradise. There, she will certainly look down on you with equal affection.”
Last Saturday, Dec. 10, I got an emergency request to substitute as a commentator in the afternoon Mass in our parish church. When I knelt and prayed to Jesus and Mama Mary, I asked them to take my friend home. I didn’t realize that at that moment, my prayer had been granted.
Rosette is the sister of my heart, not related by blood, but just as dear and precious to me as my own sisters. We shared everything: our secrets, our dreams, our petitions, and even our wacky, crazy thoughts. By her unwavering faith in the Lord, she taught me that we simply lift up our tears, our anxieties and our wants to God and He will do right by us, all the time.
I wish Rosette joy beyond what we know of it.
This Christmas, we celebrate love with the coming of Jesus and us coming to him. Mommy Lau and Rosette will likewise celebrate with Jesus, in person.
First the sadness, then the laughter. How amazing that we run in cycles and life, precious life goes on.