Aunt Margie's Last Christmas

Marjorie Tilton had been divorced since the 1930's. Divorce was a scandalous affair back then-especially when filed by the wife. But this was one feisty woman, and she wasn't one to be misled by anyone or anything. For the next sixty years, Marjorie worked in a

nursing home. When she finally retired, she was older than many of the patients living there.

The youngest of nine siblings, "Aunt Margie" as we called her, was my mother-in-law's aunt. She had survived the Great Depression, her own depression, and a world that shunned hard-working strong women. She was in her early nineties when she retired. From that point on, she showed signs of aging.

The first signs were confusion. We'd get phone calls at 7 P.M. from the nursing home, saying that she'd shown up for work, although she was retired. We'd get calls from the hairdresser saying she had shown up at 6:00 P.M. for an appointment that had been much earlier in the day. And she started to regret spending her life alone. Without the patients in the nursing home to keep her company, she had very little companionship.

Each year we invited Aunt Margie to our home for holidays. In all of the past years she had declined, and had opted to work the holiday so that those with families could spend the day at home. It made her happy to share Thanksgiving and Christmas with the elderly patients-many of them forgotten by their own families.

Christmas fell shortly after Aunt Margie's retirement. We issued the standard invitation, but weren't surprised at her decline. Holiday preparations went on as usual.

I had a hunch that we might just see a little more of Aunt Margie that Christmas anyway, so I had planned ahead and tucked away a few extra gifts for her-some gloves, warm slippers, a scarf, and a box of her favorite candy-in addition to the notepaper and stamps she enjoyed receiving every year.

On Christmas morning my mother-in-law called to say that Aunt Margie had indeed changed her mind. She would like to spend Christmas with us, rather than spending it alone. I grabbed my extra stash from the hall closet. Each gift was already wrapped and labeled, so I simply added it to the family's gift pile.

The children made Aunt Margie feel immediately at home. She marveled at the dolls my girls received and at the radio-controlled cars the boys were playing with. She had never seen such innovative creations-especially in children's toys. In fact she was so enthralled with watching them open their gifts, that we had to coax her to open her own.

She thanked us quietly for each gift, and tucked each one back in its box, with the wrapping paper neatly folded and enclosed in the box, too. She didn't seem particularly exhilarated by receiving her gifts, or by the holiday in general. We all guessed that maybe she was simply overwhelmed. After all, it was an unusual way for Aunt Margie to spend Christmas.

Shortly after the holidays Aunt Margie became ill. After a lengthy hospital stay it was decided that she needed nursing home care. The nursing home where she had worked for so long had a room available.

When Aunt Margie had to give up her apartment, my husband and I cleaned it out. There we found each and every Christmas gift we had bought for her, stacked neatly in their boxes with the folded paper, too.

"Maybe she didn't like them," I told my husband.

"She liked them," he assured me.

I wasn't particularly convinced.

As the weeks and months passed, Aunt Margie's health deteriorated. She wound up spending the last few weeks in a hospital where she passed away at the age of 93. Her last few weeks found her in the company of the pastor of our church. Although never one for church-going, Aunt Margie believed in God and in Jesus. She described herself as an "at-home Baptist". And she relished these visits with our pastor during her final days.

"What did you talk about, Aunt Margie?" we would ask her each day.

"Oh, just the weather," was her standard reply, always accompanied by a sly wink.

The same pastor conducted Aunt Margie's funeral. He had apparently gotten to know her quite well.

"She loved her work with the elderly folks," he explained.

He went on to describe her love of the city where she lived and the walks she enjoyed taking in her neighborhood. And then he talked about children. Aunt Margie had never had any children. I listened more closely.

"She loved Kim and Roland's children," he went on to say. "Watching them play brought her hours of joy. She lost herself in their childhood fantasies."

I hadn't realized how much she had enjoyed them.

"And her happiest moments came this past Christmas," the pastor continued. "She had never spent Christmas at home since she was a very young girl. And this year she spent it watching the children open their presents and play with their new treasures. She said she felt like a child again herself. She said it was the happiest Christmas she could remember."

It was then I understood. I had tried to make Aunt Margie's Christmas a happy one by indulging her in material gifts. And the only gift she truly wanted was to be a part of our family. Her joy came from watching the children's joy and excitement. The gifts were but a minor part of Christmas Day.

It was at Aunt Margie's funeral that I realized how what we give for Christmas isn't as important as the heart with which we give it. The love and joy that radiates from our hearts and souls is what makes those around us truly happy. I now understood that even though Aunt Margie couldn't have cared less about her scarf and gloves and slippers-that in fact she had the best Christmas she could recall. And in spending her last Christmas with us, Aunt Margie had given me a very special gift.