O Holy Night

Another Christmas Eve is coming to a close; another Christmas approaches. I have shopped and baked and wrapped and worked and cleaned and laundered and prayed and sang and danced and dined and hugged and kissed and laughed and cried and picked and packed. It is time to stop and sit and appreciate the "reason for the season" - the birth of Jesus.

I sat in church (St. Joseph's, along with Taryn and Warren) tonight and gazed at the 2 tapestry panels above the altar, one depicting the manger scene, the other the approach of the 3 wise men and I tried to imagine what it must have been like that holy night 2,010 years ago. I listened to the choirs joyfully sing about the coming of our Savior and joined in the chorus of voices around me. And I allowed myself to really hear the priest's homily instead of thinking about what I had left to do before tomorrow. How wonderful to be able to reflect on the greatest gift of all in the company of those I love.

The dizzying whirlwind of activity will begin anew tomorrow - opening presents, making breakfast for my family, last-minute packing for my trip with Taryn (a cruise to Grand Cayman and Cozumel!), and finally a trip to the airport where Warren will see us off. And it will continue up until and well into the new year I'm sure. But for now...I sit in joyful contemplation of His Coming and thank God for the blessing of another Christmas with all of you.

Blessings and Love to All.

Your Presence

"The more time we spend thinking about the past and the future, the less time we spend in the present." - Leslie Van Bell

Although I did not know her, the death of Elizabeth Edwards hit me hard this week, a stark reminder of where stage IV breast cancer can lead in a very short period of time. In a weird way, completely illogical and unscientific, Elizabeth Edwards was my "standard" - her diagnosis, at the outset, was worse than mine. As long as she was alive and hanging on I was "safe." There was no way my cancer would progress faster than hers. Worse, after my most recent diagnosis, I'd used her as an example to my kids of someone who could live with tumors in their body and still be OK. Let's hope they don't remember that.

I cried when I heard she was gravely ill, that the cancer had spread to her liver, and I cried again upon hearing the next day that she had passed. I feel sad for her children; I think about the fact that she didn't get "just one more Christmas" with them; I wonder if I will be as capable as she seemed to be of holding on to hope and grace and dignity in the face of a terminal diagnosis. And I eventually, humbly realize that it is as she said: "The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered."

It is a time of year when we seek to feel the presence both of God and of those we have lost, and perhaps they are intertwined. I don't know how or why but my memory is sometimes triggered by losses from long ago (Lauren Bellis, Cynthia Rech), losses of those I didn't know but who touched me nonetheless (Elizabeth, John Lennon), losses of heroes (Vinnie Kane, Jim Ryan), recent losses (Margaret, Charlie, Mickey, Patricia), and losses of loved ones (Mom, Julie, Aunt Pat) and I imagine (somewhat selfishly) that all are watching over me. I would like to believe that when these thoughts come unbidden about any of those I've lost, that it is God's way of making His and their presence known to me in an effort to provide comfort in a time of need.

Presence. Presents. Present. I can't help but continue to hope for all. Yes, even presents...like Christian Laboutin shoes (well, in keeping with the spirit of the season they ARE Christian!). And to honor Elizabeth and all the other inpsirational stage IV survivors out there, I'd like to include one of her last comments:

"I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful."

All I can say is...me too.

Blessings and Love to All.