The envelopes come from Angel Heart Hospice, the people that helped take care of my parents in the last months of their lives. The letters inside contain information to help me in my grief process, and give advice on such things as getting through the holidays. The last few have remained unopened; I already know what they say. Sometimes I am just not in the mood to read the contents. Death is a part of living, everything I am feeling is "normal", I know. But let's face it, death just plain stinks. No matter how much time goes by, you'll always miss those you love who aren't here anymore.
But this post isn't about grief. It's about Christmas and family. A Christmas Story. Not THAT Christmas Story. No Red Ryder BB guns, bunny suits or licking frozen flagpoles. (If you don't know what that means, you must go rent the movie, "A Christmas Story", immediately. You've missed out big time.)
This is a Christmas story about caring enough to walk into the messiness of the lives of others. It's a story about family.
December 9, 2007 I was traveling home to OKC from Austin, Texas. I had spent the previous two days at the bedside of my dying mother. I was exhausted emotionally and physically. I was ragged and raw. She had passed away as my brother and I held her hands the day before. I had not slept in about 30 hours, and all I wanted was to get home to my husband and daughter. Unfortunately, that particular weekend a major ice storm had hit OKC. Flying from Austin to Dallas was uneventful, but I knew the weather had been a possible problem in getting all the way home. Sitting on the runway in Dallas, ticking away the minutes, I began to have a feeling of impending doom. I was trying to stay calm, hoping our flight would sneak into the OKC airport before everything came to a complete halt. It was not to be.
The pilot's voice came over the intercom saying the words I did not want to hear. Dallas was as far as I would go that night. The OKC airport was completely shut down. Nothing was flying in or out. I sat for a moment as people around me retrieved luggage from the overhead bins and began to exit the plane. The flood of tears I had been holding back came out in a rush, and I began to cry silently but hard. Once it started, I just couldn't stop. Exhaustion and grief took over and I tried to focus on what to do next. We were being given information about ticket vouchers, hotel rooms that might be available, etc. It was too much to absorb.
I finally collected my things and numbly walked off the plane and into the terminal. Feeling very lost, I tried to figure out where to go. I finally just followed the other passengers I had seen on the plane and found what looked like the line to stand in to get tickets for possible flights the next day.
I noticed that the people around me were giving me plenty of space. I was sure I looked like a woman on the edge. And I was. I was aware of Christmas music playing in the terminal, and people in a hurry everywhere, many carrying gifts wrapped in bright holiday wrapping.
I was alone in the line, people in front and back of me trying not to look at me, not notice the tears or otherwise acknowledge the hysterical woman standing in their general vicinity. Who could blame them? I didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.
I was next at the ticket counter, and I actually felt bad for the young man with the wide eyes and nervous look on his face, I'm sure trying to recall his training on handling hysterical passengers. I tried to catch my breath, and told the guy I was "really okay, I just needed to get home. My mom passed away yesterday, that's why I am upset."
Compassion filled his face and he actually handed me a box of kleenex and told me to keep it while he tried to hurry and get me my voucher. He finally finished and I wandered around numbly until found a place to sit while I sorted out my options for the night.
My cousin David and his wife Kelly came to my mind as I remembered they didn't live far from DFW airport, in Grand Prairie. I called David's sister since I had her phone number in my cell phone. She quickly gave me David and Kelly's number, and I called their house. When I explained my strandedness, David immediately got in his car to come to my rescue. I finally relaxed a little, at least knowing I had a plan and help was on the way. But still, I could not stop the flow of tears. I sat in the baggage claim area, looking out the window, pulling tissue after tissue out of the box, waiting for my cousin.
I was slightly aware of a group of people with lots of luggage and laughter coming into the area where I was sitting, discussing who was going to get cars, etc. Someone sat down in the seat right next to mine, but I never averted my gaze from the window, knowing that I looked a mess, and not wanting to see any of the wary looks I was sure were coming my direction.
A woman walked towards my area and stopped in front of whoever it was that had sat down next to me, and said "Is everything okay here?" I heard a female voice reply, "I don't know. But she's breaking my heart, I've been sitting here praying for her." I turned to see a sweet, gentle face watching me, tears silently streaming down her face. I was stunned to realize this complete stranger had been sitting right by me for several minutes now, and had not only felt compassion for me, but had been praying for me. Now I really lost it. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder as I apologized for my emotional state and told the two ladies about my mother's death the day before. The woman who had shown such empathy for me said, "I knew it. I knew something was really wrong. Do you have somewhere to go?" I explained that help was on the way, and she said "Well, we'll be your family until your cousin gets here." Wow. Family? Complete strangers willing to not only care enough to step into my distraught world, but willing to stay there and be a comfort to me for as long as I needed.
As it turns out, Darra and Darlene were sisters-in-law, just returned from a family vacation someplace warm and tropical they said. I then noticed they were in shorts and sunburned. They really became my family for the next 20 minutes or so. They sat on either side of me, asked me my name and asked me questions about my mother, and listened intently, not afraid of my tears and sorrow. They stepped into my grief with me. They prayed with me. They were my sisters for a moment in time.
I saw my cousin pull up, and as I gathered my things, Darra and Darlene gave me loving hugs, wiped my tears and said goodbye with promises of continued prayer. They waved goodbye through the window as I climbed into David's car.
When I think of their kindness, even now, I get a lump in my throat and think about what they were willing to do that night. They were in a good mood, just back from a nice vacation. How easy it would have been to look the other way. Why finish their vacation at the airport with a obviously very upset woman. They had no idea what I might say, or what reaction I might have at their stepping into my space. But they were willing to take the risk. They were willing to listen to the voice of God prodding them to get involved. I wonder if I would have done the same. I'm ashamed to say I might not have. I might have chosen another seat, looked the other way and pretended not to notice a stranger's tears.
Darra and Darlene not only comforted me that night, they changed me. When I see a person enveloped in sadness, I'm less afraid to approach, to find out what is causing them pain. Isn't that what Jesus did? Approach complete strangers with the love of God? Unafraid to get involved? It's unlikely I'll ever see Darra and Darlene again. But I will always remember how it felt to have two sisters come into my life when I needed them the most. And I hope I can be someone's sister when the moment calls for it.
Keep your eyes open for someone you might bless this holiday season. Someone who needs the touch of family. You might just be the one.
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