Emma’s care took over an hour to do, and she talked in her whispering voice as I did her treatment with a lump in my throat, and listened to the soft sounds of the Christmas Carols filling the room.
When I was through, Emma asked me to sit for a moment. The night was quiet so I sat beside her as she held my hands. She continued to talk, and give me advice. Her amazing perception overwhelmed me. She told me she thought I was tired, and she remembered being tired when her children were small and Christmas so demanding. From under those heavy bandages, she advised me to never take my health for granted, to be thankful I could see and hear, that I could dance around my house with my baby girl in my arms as I told her I did, that I could drive a car, read a book, laugh and sing, and do all the things that make up a life, things I had never thought about to any degree. She felt my wide wedding band, and expressed how she wished she could see it.
A tear fell from my face unto her hand from the tears I could no longer hold back.
She told me not to cry, that she had accepted her fate, and I should too. Emma made me promise to live life fully while I was able, thanked me for my tenderness with her painful treatment, and wished me a Merry Christmas. The music was still playing.
When I left her room that night, I already knew that my experience with Emma was special. A weak, elderly woman, clinging to life, wanted to touch my hair, needed to talk, and gave a young nurse and mother great advice. She made me aware of just how much I took for granted, and reminded me to remember the ‘reason for the season’.
I never saw Emma again.
But she had made me realize so much. She reminded me that my senses of sight, taste and smell, my hearing, my mobility, my youth, my family, and yes, even my hair, were all things for which I should be grateful. I had never really considered how fortunate I was, and never regarded how much I had been given. Emma had taught me a lesson. That night with Emma was thirty years ago. I was just twenty-seven years of age, and quite aware of the gift of the ‘Christmas Lesson’ I had just been given. I recall it with amazing clarity.
Later that night I was asked how Emma was doing. I reported that she was fine and had talked all through her treatment, never disclosing the ‘lesson’ I was holding in my heart.
Emma, in my estimation, was a special Angel who reminded me of just how much, in spite of my busy life, I should slow down and treasure. I still believe our paths crossed for a special reason. Through all the hurried preparations for Christmas, the true meaning of Christmas sometimes got lost, but I would never lose it again. It was an unforgettable lesson that this sick, tiny but kind, woman taught me that Christmas Eve.
Many times, over the years, I would remember Emma’s whispered words, and how they had made me so anxious to get home to my husband and children, to hug them tightly, and to never forget the gifts I had been given.
Emma touched my life briefly, but her lesson touched me forever. Her endurance, her advice, and her caring, negated her ghastly disfigurement. She was indeed a beautiful Christmas Angel, and her words have stayed with me, especially during difficult times.
Emma’s Christmas gift of a ‘lesson’ enriched my life forever.
Thank you Emma, and Merry Christmas!
