Some milestones in our lives are happy ones, some not. They all mark an important event or passage. Today we celebrated my Mom's birthday on Christmas Eve as we always have. While that is a milestone or a marker of sorts, it's not the one I'm referring to. Grandma's birthday is one of those happy markers you are grateful to come across, be reminded of and celebrate. Some milestones you reach are not as pleasant or peace-filled.
We have had a tradition in our family ever since I was a young girl that on Christmas Eve our Dad would read Twas The Night Before Christmas by Clement C. Moore to us girls. It continued even when we left home got married and had kids. He has always read it to us. When we lived thousands of miles away he simply called each of us and our families would gather around the phone and listen to Grandpa.
A couple of our families were together today celebrating Grandma's birthday and before my sister and her family went home, I asked my Dad if he had the book with him that had the poem in it. He just looked at me and said, "I can't." Now you have to know my Dad (and most of you do), he doesn't say "I can't. I thought he was kidding around. I went back and forth with him a little about it but he said he could not make himself heard. I said "But you had voice lessons--You can! It was to no avail. When my mom came up and I told her she thought he was kidding around, too. She tried and got the same response.
When we realized he really didn't feel his voice would make it, I sat down and cried. It was a milestone in my life and his. It wasn't just a tradition lost to our family. It is my children's generation not getting to know their Grandpa in this way. It is my Dad going through one more loss--being able to control one less thing in his life--the level of his voice when he wants to. Yes, I felt sorry for my Dad and my kids and myself for a few minutes and mourned the loss of precious years of tradition with my Dad.
A few hours later my sister Sarah texted me and asked if Dad was calling soon to read the story. I picked up my phone and called her to tell her what was going on. She was sad too. She said they had been sitting around waiting for his call. We talked for a couple of minutes and then hung up. About twenty minutes later something almost effervescent happened. I got another text from my sister Sarah. It simply said: "I just called Dad and Mom and read "Twas the Night Before Christmas to Them." I wept again--this time with a very full heart for a sister who had the grace to turn the situation around and bless my Dad with the same gift he has given us for years.
I hate Parkinson's disease. It robbed my grandfather and now my father of so much of themselves and caused them both such pain and discomfort. My Dad has been through a lot in his life but all that he has gone through has made him a stronger, better, more capable and honorable person.
Thanks Dad, for your example of strength and honor and the milestones and traditions you've provided along the way. I love you!
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