The other side of Christmas

Just as I was leaving on Christmas Eve morning, I got an e-mail from my daughter Sarri: 

Just to let you know, Richard’s (her husband) dad died in the hospital yesterday morning.  He was 94.  Fred was one of the sweetest men I have ever met, a really lovely gentleman who was full of stories, especially of the war and the extreme deprivations he endured as a prisoner for five years (marching through snow without shoes from Poland to Czechoslovakia).  To think he was exposed to all that at the age of 17 – Julian’s (my grandson, her son) age...so difficult to imagine.  Yet throughout the rest of his life, he showed as much fondness towards the German people he met as he did towards Polish and Czech strangers.  A recently published book on Hitler’s British slaves has a cover photograph of prisoners at a labor camp, all looking emaciated but for one robust figure — that was Fred.  Despite everything he suffered he stayed strong (he was a gymnast in his youth and liked to chat with Julian about gymnastics), healthy and independent until just the past few weeks. 

By the candlelight of my youngest daughter’s Christmas tree, I said a silent prayer for Fred, for my daughter Sarri, my son-in-law Richard, all of whom mourned over their Christmas across the miles.

 When they were growing up, Sarri was the daughter who was the closest friend of Robertino.  That’s what we used to call Robert Estella.  The first time we met he was a little boy, thin and tall for his age, shy but very charming.   Among the cousins he was their most favorite playmate.  He spent many nights sleeping at our house and playing with my children.  He was the youngest son of my “in-laws” then, Poch and Charing Estella. 

I remember one Christmas when we had German friends staying with us.  They brought their two young sons with them and the boys did not speak English.  I asked Charing to send Robert over to play with the boys, who were more or less his age.  Robert walked into the dining room as we were finishing lunch, raised his right hand straight up and said, “Heil, Hitler!” a phrase he had picked up from TV’s Combat, which he enjoyed watching.  I burst out laughing, couldn’t help myself.  At least my laughter diminished the embarrassment of the German couple who did not know whether they were being insulted or what.

But Destiny has her ways.  A few Christmases later Robert’s uncle and I parted ways and we did not see each other frequently anymore.  All the children grew up.  Today they are all in their 40s and even 50s.  The last time I saw Robert was when his father passed away many years ago.  I knew he had married an American girl named Nicole, but she wasn’t with him then. 

One day his mother and I went shopping and Charing bought two blouses for Nicole.  She was supposed to have been a very nice person, who once came to visit and fell in love with the Philippines.  They say she could not wait to move here.  But they had to go back to Scottsdale, Arizona where they lived.  There she worked as a dental hygienist a few days a week.  Robert worked as a financial adviser.  She took care of their only son, RJ, who is a special child.

The day after this Christmas I was resting in my flat when I received text from my son:  Robert Estella’s wife died of an aneurism on the 24th! I was shocked. My heart bled for poor Robert.  I imagined he would be devastated.  Nicole was only 45, less than half the age of Richard’s father.  This was a genuine tragedy.  But what can I do?  He is in Scottsdale and I am here.

I wrote a sympathy e-mail to Robert, saying that Nicole must have been a wonderful wife and mother.  He replied Thank you for the kind words. My wife was not a wonderful wife and mother.  She was a Saint!!! I truly believe that good people die young and this is even more true in this case. She spent her life healing and nursing RJ.  I can feel his mom in his soul right now.He is doing remarkably well considering the situation. I am confident that no matter what, he will continue to get better and thrive...with his mother sacrificing herself to be in his soul!

That is the full story of this year’s holidays – torn between grief over the passing of people too far to embrace but still close to my heart.  Please say a little prayer for Fred and Nicole. 

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