Atlanta, GA
December 27, 2023
“Time wastes too fast: every letter I trace tells me with what rapidity life follows my pen. The days and hours of it are flying over our heads like clouds of a windy day, never to return…”
So wrote Laurence Sterne. The line came from Tristram Shandy, a novel adored by Thomas Jefferson and his dying wife. As she faded, they took turns writing the words. Her life ended before she could finish, so he completed it for her.
With a lock of her hair, that scrap of paper was the only memento Jefferson preserved of his wife. To protect their privacy and dull his pain, he destroyed their other correspondence. The privacy was preserved and the pain subsided. But it always persisted.
For certain losses, as Jefferson put it in another note, there is no remedy. Time and silence are the only medicine. Perhaps this is the best time to receive both.
The week between Christmas and New Year’s is particularly quiet and especially slow. Time doesn’t merely seem to stand still. It’s almost as if it doesn’t exist at all. Routines are relinquished. Deadlines dissipate and schedules subside.
We relax more than usual, let our discipline slip, and consume more than we should. We’ll recruit resolutions to redeem these sins. But for now such reconciliation remains remote, safely ensconced in another year.
For seven days, the calendar is a blur. Dates run together, the next almost indistinguishable from the last. It’s like we’re living outside of time. But we aren’t. And before we know it, it’ll all be gone.
For a second time this month, for one of our extended family of beloved friends, the clock ran out. A few weeks ago, my wife bid an eternal adieu to her second mom. Sometime last night or early this morning, a dear friend lost her wonderful mother.
Annie is godmother to our younger son, and is like a sister to my wife. Her father died a few years ago. In his wake, his wife and child comforted each other, shared their grief, and relished his memory. Now the parents can recapture their joy, and bequeath to their daughter the solace of God.
At least we hope so. A happy reunion in Heaven may mitigate enduring pain on earth. But it doesn’t eliminate it. And the pangs at Christmas are particularly poignant.
We can’t think of Christmas without thinking of Blanqui. Having fled Castro’s Cuba after the communist revolution, she and her husband made a life in America. Devout Catholics and devoted parents, they left all they had to keep everything they’d need.
Their Faith was foremost. Blanqui loved the Church. Chesterton once asked, if we were accused of being Catholic, would there be enough proof to convict us? In Blanqui’s case, the jury would’ve rendered a guilty verdict in about five seconds. And without any deliberation.
Among the ample evidence were her countless Nativity scenes. A beautiful variety adorned her home, several exhibited throughout the year. A few made their way to us. She always considered us family. Or, if she didn’t, she did a great job making us think she did!
And the feeling was mutual. To my wife, Blanqui was a favorite aunt, a guiding light of boundless wisdom and radiant joy. Whenever Rita entered Blanqui’s presence, she’d elicit a smile so bright you could read by it. The smile may be gone, but the light will never go out.
Time may waste too fast. But life goes on, and we must continue to live it for those we love…and for those who loved us. We realize with age how quickly time flies, and how much of it we waste as it glides away. As with many blessings we assume are abundant, we take it for granted until we realize it’s gone.
We once recounted how subtly sand slips thru the hourglass, how almost all the grains we share with our parents are gone before we graduate high school. As we were reminded upon hearing this sad news, we know not the hour when they’ll be gone for good.
We last saw Blanqui a few months ago, and were elated how she looked. About fifteen months earlier, she was hospitalized after a fall. Treatment took its toll, and the prognosis was bleak. My wife and I paid a visit, thinking it might be a final goodbye.
She could hardly move and barely speak. She seemed incognizant, but could still comprehend. As we prayed over (and with) her beside her hospital bed, we tried our best to bring Christ to Blanqui. But as we did, we realized that, thru her perseverance and dignity, she instinctively gave God to us.
A rote reading of standard prayers evolved into a sincere sharing of divine grace. As we read the Litany of Loreto, Blanqui barely moved. But, as my wife clutched her hand, the love of God leapt from the bed. We came to comfort a dying woman, yet a lady very much alive brought solace to us.
It wouldn’t be the last time. God worked not only thru Blanqui, but on her. After months in a debilitative state requiring constant care, earlier this year she revived completely. When we saw her in September, she was witty and charming as she ever was. And that sparkling smile never left her face.
It was miraculous. Nearing ninety, she’d reclaimed the vigor she’d always had. And it never left. The way she’d deteriorated last year, we wouldn’t have imagined that, two nights ago…on the day of God’s greatest gift…she’d receive (and give) the priceless present of being part of a festive Christmas.
The next night…last night, her final evening on earth…Blanqui enjoyed a delightful dinner with her daughter and son-in-law. There was no sign anything was wrong.
And maybe there wasn’t. Perhaps it was simply time to go where she needed to be. After a couple glasses of wine, she said buenas noches, went to bed, and woke peacefully in the arms of Christ.
With impeccable timing, she departed on the Feast of St John, the disciple Our Lord asked to look after Our Mother. Having been granted Christmas Day to be with her daughter, she’s joined Christ as His Incarnation is revealed.
That makes sense. After all, where else would she be?
Every Nativity needs an angel.
JD
Very touching, JD. God be with you.
Thanks for sharing JD