COVID CHRISTMAS

In December 1996, about a week before Christmas, an unexpected 2 a.m. phone call awaked me from a warm winter sleep, by a well-lighted Christmas tree.  It was a doctor a good 900 miles south, in Florida.  The male voice told me that my dad was in their hospital.  I jumped to my feet and I said, “I’ll be right there!”

The man asked, “You’re in Ohio right?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied.

“I wouldn’t bother, if I was you.  I’m sorry, but we don’t expect your father to make it thought the night.”

Of course, I was on the phone with the airport right away, looking for a flight from Columbus to Tampa.  And within hours I was on my way to Florida. 

When I arrived at the hospital, my dad was sedated, so he couldn’t speak, but he could hear me, and he squeezed my hand.  My brother had flown down as well, and we were told by the doctors that dad’s lungs we’re full of blood.  They weren’t sure as to why, but they suspected it possible that his blood thinkers were thinning his blood too much.

After a day or two, we all agreed that my dad was strong enough for exploratory surgery.   The surgeons drained the blood from my father’s lungs, and within twelve hours, dad was up and talking as if nothing ever happened to him. 

So on Christmas Eve I found myself flying home, back to Columbus to celebrate Christmas with my mom and sister; my brother wasn’t flying home until Christmas day.  My dad was to stay in the hospital for a few more days, before they would release him.

The plane ride home was full of strangers with Christmas stories of their own.  They all began with, “You are so lucky your dad is ok.   My loved one (dad, mom, etc) was not so lucky, and Christmas has never been the same since.  Then their eyes would fall to the floor, leaving me with a sinking feeling that my dad was living on borrowed time.  

He died two days later, on December 27^th, 1996, at 52 years of age.  I can tell you exactly where I was when he died, because I felt him pass through me.

The thing that bothered me the most about his death was that he was basically there in the hospital alone.  No family to hold his hand, or to be present at the time of his passing.   I use to think that was an awful way to go – alone, by yourself. 

But in 2014, about a week before Christmas, I found myself in the hospital fighting for my life.  I spent Christmas in an I.C. U. unit.  Another month or so, it would be my 52^nd birthday.  I couldn’t help but think of my father on that Christmas Eve as I lay alone in the cold dark, with the sound of the beep, beeps that told me my heart was still pumping.   I was in Florida, and my family was in Ohio.

 If I would have died that night, I can honestly say, it was a good night to die.  I was not alone.  Not for a minute.  I was surrounded by love.  The room might have been cold and dark, but I wasn’t.  There was a light that shone on me, and I was warm and at peace.  Crazy maybe, but I felt like the baby Jesus lying in a manger.

And that is not the first brush with death I have ever had.  When I was about 12 or 13 years old, I damn near drowned.  The third time when I went under, calm, came over me; I wasn’t scared or panicking anymore.   I saw Jesus stand before me, with an angel kneeling at each side of Him.  But then someone grabbed my arm and pulled me ashore. 

If I have learned anything from this life, it’s that we are not alone, and death is nothing to fear.  Life after death is like the dragonfly born from water to air. 

So do not feel guilty for holding gratitude and love, which accompanies the season, close to heart.  Honor those loved ones who are unable to be with you this Christmas, with a smile and laughter. Christmas is a magical time of the year, because we celebrate love.  It is love that connects us all – living and dead.  Love is the one constant between the two worlds.  I guess that’s why they call it, “Christ Mass.”

“Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!”

 

 

CHRISTMAS IN THE HOSPITAL

As I lie still by myself with tubes and wires extending from my hands and arms in the darkness of what is, I couldn’t help but compare myself to my father.  Is this how he felt when he was laying by himself in a hospital bed, miles away from his family on Christmas day?

I’m only two months short of his age when he passed away on December 27, in 1996.  I thought I was healthier than he was at this age.  I can only imagine the sadness felt by my mother and my siblings as history repeats. 

“Dad, help me through this.  This can’t happen again.  Not now.  Not like this.”

“Jesus, comfort me on this Holy night, as you have so many times before.  Wrap me in your love till I glow like a Christmas tree.  It would be so much easier to surrender to you here and now, but please give me the courage and the strength to live.”

There was no warmth of a Christmas tree, or the festive colors of gold, white, yellow, green and red in the darkness of the cut and grab critical care room.  But, the night felt just as holy as the Christmas nights passed within my own home of love. 

I felt better knowing that my dad most likely felt the same way on that Christmas holiday in 1996.  He wasn’t any more alone than I was at this moment in time.  My dad is with me this Christmas night, along with the spirits of love that crossed before me. 

Apparently, my Christmas wish was gifted that night.  I’m still here and doing much better than I was.  It wasn’t only my wish that was granted, but also the prayers of those who shinned their love on me that holiday season. 

In case you didn’t read it on a Facebook post, or I didn’t get a chance to tell you personally - thank you.  I love you all; each and every one of you.  I don’t even have to know you; I love you, because in the end, love is all that matters.

It’s kind of like when someone you know dies.  All the bad things you may have felt about that person just dissolve and disappear in the atmosphere somewhere.  We become forgiving and the only thing left is the good that we remember.  Our love is what shines on in this world; and it’s the only thing we can take with us to the next.

Love on while you can ~ Peace out!

 

My Dad



PREPARING FOR DEATH

Death, it’s a part of life, yet no one really ever seems to gets use to it.  A priest once said that we prepare for death throughout our lives.  And when you think about it, it makes sense.  Life is growing, maturing, evolving; it’s all about changing.  I am not the same person at age eight-teen, as I am now at fifty-one years old.  My thoughts and actions were reckless in my younger years.  At age thirty-five I began to seek knowledge by reading books regarding dreams, nature and spirituality.  The more I learn, the less I fear death. 

Experience has taught me well too.  Even friendships slowly decay. 

I recently took a trip back to my hometown to meet up with a group of friends from high school.  I had a really good time, and loved listening to stories of how many kids and grandbabies everyone had; where they worked after high school, and their current career choices.  But the one question that kept popping up in my mind was why did we stop hanging out with each other?  How did we lose contact?

Death is a natural occurrence that takes place everyday on so many different levels, but we do not always recognize it.  Changing jobs, or divorcing a spouse, or sending your kids to college is death and rebirth.  You start a new career or you find a new lover and you keep on keeping on. You don’t stop existing.  Death and birth go hand in hand.  And this is one reason why I feel I do not fear death.  Because when I die, it will be the beginning of a new adventure.  It will be the birth of a new and different experience. 

 

 

For those of you who are dealing with death, or doubt the concept of life after death, I highly recommend this book.  It was written by a doctor (a Neurosurgeon), who defied all odds and recovered from a disease that literally ate his brain.  He tells of his near death experience (NDE) while he laid in a coma for a week.