The doctors said you weren’t going to come home.

1 in 10 chance, they said.

Lungs are just too full, body is just too frail.

Is your will updated?

Have you said all you need to your sweetheart of 65+ years?

My mom had to ask you, had to be sure.

Your daughter, wondering if her dad would be around for Christmas.

 

Why are you crying, Mama? 

My kids wanted to know.

I told them I probably wouldn’t get to see my Grandad again.

They prayed for you to get better and for Grandmom to not be too sad.

We facetimed to say goodbye after the kids went to bed.

You joked about how you were doing, and asked about our lives in the Lonestar state.

We hung up and said hopefully to each other, He seems ok?

 

I woke up throughout the night to check my phone.

Would we be going to Colorado earlier than we planned?

Wearing black instead of festive red and green?

Christmas is your favorite, I think.

Always has been.

The family all gathered to celebrate His birth.

 

Skits and stockings.

Cookies and chaos.

Sometimes snow, and sometimes sun.

Always games and always laughter.

Legacy of love strengthening year after year.

Would you be here to see it this time?

We didn’t know. 

 

Lungs are clear!

Surgery went well!

He’s going home on Monday!

Christmas is on Thursday!

 

You beat the odds.

Stubborn will and onery genes keeping you this side of the now and not yet.

Would it have been the same if Christmas wasn’t so close?

If you hadn’t had a trove full of memories and a quiver full of people bolstering you afloat?

Science says, maybe not.

We weren’t meant to be alone, our bodies know as well as our minds.

You sat in your worn in brown recliner, watching us tear into gifts you and grandmom painstakingly wrapped.

We filled your living room with laughter and chaos once again.

Our kids bringing to mind the years we were young.

Throwing stuff down the laundry chute.

Banging too loud on the organ.

Four generations under your roof.

 

You smiled with tears in your eyes as you told us going to your grandparents’ house for Christmas held some of your favorite memories.

Keep gathering, kids – you said, as we sat round.

Families like ours are rare, you stressed.

We nodded because we know.

 

We know because some of our favorite childhood memories were made in your house at Christmas.

Not because the food was so good (although it was).

Not because the presents were plentiful (even though they were).

Not because California kids loved the snow (but we sure did).

It’s because your house and the people in it were familiar.

Familiar in the way that allows for belly laughs and goofy pictures to abound.

Familiar in the way that brought forth long nights around dominoes and basement shenanigans.

Familiar in the way that let us know we were part of something that exceeded state lines and time passed.

 

Warmth infused with care.

Laughs infused with love.

Family.

Not perfect by any means but tied together by knowledge that we are loved.

You and grandmom built this legacy of love, founded on Love Himself.

And boy, am I glad you were around this Christmas to see how we are all trying to continue that legacy.