Star of Christmas

   It was Christmas day, the temperature was in the mid-forties; the sky was overcast, sullen and gray. It was an ordinary late December day. The trees were bare, the wind was blowing a gentle breeze that rattled the few dead leaves desperately hanging on, as if by clinging to the branch they might turn back to green again. It had been near freezing with a light rain overnight and the morning had been brisk and gloomy. By afternoon, the sun managed to occasionally peek through the low hanging clouds and brighten up an otherwise dreary day. There was nothing glorious about this Christmas day.

   Cheryl had prepared another of her spectacular Christmas Eve meals for her brothers families and her Mom. It was a tradition that her Mom had carried on for years; dinner at Granny’s and then a round of Pollyanna Christmas for all to enjoy and share. Granny had a stroke in August and after three hospital stays and a less than desirable rehab facility, she had moved in with us in mid-October. Cheryl wanted to carry on the tradition for her Mom even though it was going to require an extraordinary effort on her part. She was already providing diligent care for her invalided Mom, and she wanted to continue the familial customs. Granny is eighty-three and she had been living alone in her home until the stroke. Centered in the back of her brain, it primarily affected her equilibrium, causing vertigo and nausea. Over the past three months, she has improved in walking with a walker, but she tires easily and frequently needs assistance. I thought that Cheryl was undertaking more than she should, but her heart wanted to do it for “my Mom”.

   Surprisingly, Granny had the stamina to stay up with the pace even though she was obviously in some discomfort. The evening meal had been the typical layout with honey-baked ham and all the trimmings. Cheryl exceeded all my expectations considering the circumstances. I think she felt a sense of urgency to accomplish it one more time for her Mom; because she didn’t know if this might be her last Christmas.

The next morning I took Cheryl’s brother Michael to the train station downtown. On returning home around mid-day, I was reflecting on the weather conditions as I walked down the sidewalk toward the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a solitary bloom on one of the azaleas bushes that line the way. Late December and an azalea bloom? Where did that come from? Christmas Day it was, and one bloom on a bush that has never bloomed in December!

    A friend of mine told me a story of how a rose bush bloomed in late fall on the day his mother died. It never bloomed that late, until her death. The same thing happened when his father passed, and now, every year two roses bloom to remind him of his mom and his dad. It is like a special gift that brings him great pleasure during the Fall of every year. Was this something similar? Did an almighty presence reach a finger down and touch a single solitary bud on a dormant bush and make it bloom? I don’t know, I really don’t even care what others may think.

   In the midst of the celebration for the birth of the glorious son of almighty God, a lone bloom exploded on the very day that we observe his birth. It was not there the day before, but it remained in full bloom for a fortnight. We had struggled for months, trying to find a way to make things better for Granny, trying to help her through this difficult time of adjustment and uncertainty. For me, the flower bloom signified hope; hope that appeared like the original star in the east that shown down on the solution to the world’s problems. Cheryl’s Mom is still struggling, our problems are still a trial, but we have hope.

   The stroke had caused her to fall and that had left her with a deep indention on her right forehead and her right eye had not recovered full sight from a previous retinal occulsion. Since her stroke, she has lost seventy-five pounds and her face is wrinkled and stressed from the constant nausea and dizziness. She often sits for long periods with her head buried in her hands to ease the sickness that accompanies any motion.

That is how I found her on the day after Christmas, when I showed Granny the picture I took of the bloom, that had magically appeared the day before. She scrunched her face and squinted her eyes down to a pair of narrow slits as she gazed at the star-like image. Then a look of absolute delight spread across her face. Her lips tilted upward in a glorious smile as she looked up and said, “That is absolutely beautiful”. I couldn’t agree more.