I’m not sure God uses irony to make a point but maybe . . .
I was born in Abington Hospital on Easter.
43 years later . . .
My dad died in Abington Hospital on Christmas.
These two days – the most important, in fact the basis for, days in Christianity.
Obviously the day of my birth is not one I remember, but my mother does. As the story goes, I was not due for several days but Mother went into labor and called the doctor. It was her third and she knew time was of the essence. Back in the day doctors were more personally involved. He came and picked her up and took her to the hospital.
To be clear, this was not necessarily the norm but my dad had to stay home with my two older brothers and it was early, early Easter Sunday morning.
Because this delivery was long, long ago, my mother was sedated and not until she awoke later, did she realize she had a daughter. 😊 She was overjoyed after having two sons. And, of course, after seeing me, what’s not to love! 😊 😊 😊
It was 6am Easter Sunday morning. The church people showed up later in the day bringing her the most beautiful Easter flowers from church that day.
Fast forward 43 years.
My dad had been sick for a while and I got the call to come be with my mother as this was probably the time to “say goodbye” to him.
They were in Philadelphia and I was in St. Louis.
It turned into a three-week vigil.
Finally I told my mother I had to go home to my hubby and two teenaged kids. It was three days before Christmas. My brother flew in and we passed the baton. It turned out that it was the last day Dad was conscious. I remember getting on the plane and calling him – one last time – to tell him I loved him. I then flew home, brokenhearted. He was 71 years old.
(That year was probably my first on-line shopping experience. Having not yet shopped for the kid’s Christmas gifts (and no matter what the age, kids expect to see gifts on Christmas morning 😊 ) I ordered on-line and paid extra to expedite shipping. No Amazon prime then. ☹)
On Christmas Day, back in Philadelphia, my dad had been unconscious for three days and my brother and mother decided to leave the hospital to get fresh air and have a nice Christmas dinner somewhere. However, on Christmas Day, not many choices so it was Chinese for them.
Having no cell phones, they didn’t get the news until they returned to the hospital. My dad had passed away.
We all flew back for the funeral, and afterwards, settled back into life as we knew it.
For the longest time I was dismayed that for all the Christmases to come, I’d associate it with my dad’s death.
Then I got older.
It wasn’t until probably 2 decades later that I realized the irony of the hospital and special holidays my dad and I shared.
And I thank God I can focus, not on my birth and my dad’s death, but on His birth Christmas and His resurrection Easter which means I’ll not only be with God when I die, but with my dad! PTL