A Gift from Christmas Angels

This was first published in the anthology titled A Cup of Comfort, Adams Media.

It was two weeks before Christmas, and I was feeling like things were almost caught up for the holidays. Gifts were bought and wrapped, menus planned, the tree was finally up and decorated. Packages were ready for Monday's mail, and presents that would travel north with me to my hometown later that week were in a pile in the kitchen. It was a holiday tradition to drive the three hours to Bangor, Maine and spend a day with my grandmother shortly before Christmas. We'd have Christmas cookies and tea, and reminisce. We'd spend the day laughing. By late afternoon I would leave and make my rounds to visit  relatives, delivering gifts and bringing tidings of Christmas cheer. It was  an exhausting day with the six hour round trip  and numerous stops, but one I made willingly, grateful for the treasure of my grandmother's company. My truest friend, we talked on the phone at least once a week.

Satisfied with my completion of Christmas tasks, this Saturday found me facing a three foot high pile of ironing. Determined to complete it before day's end, I tackled the mundane chore. Christmas carols blaring, hand dipped chocolates drying on the counter, the atmosphere was merry even if the job at hand wasn't.

"I need to go to Bangor," I suddenly told my husband..

"You're going Wednesday or Thursday, right?"

"I think I'd should go today," I found myself answering. I don't know why I felt I needed to change my plans. I just knew I wanted to go.

"When would you leave?" he asked.

"Not until around 8:00. I've got to finish this work and I've got a few other things to do. It'll take me that long to get ready."

"I wish you wouldn't drive all that way at night alone," my husband said.

Not one to question my judgement, I was surprised he voiced his caution.

While ironing, I talked on the phone, brewed coffee, and made lists of things to do before Christmas. I usually made myself crazy with Christmas plans, and had vowed to simplify this year. So far I had stuck to my promise.

Nearing the bottom of my pile, my friend Colleen joined me for coffee. Colleen has lived with us for years. Not having much family of her own, we became her family and my kids call her Auntie. I mentioned my idea of driving to Bangor and my husband's concern.

"I'll go with you," she volunteered.

My husband heard this and piped in, "Great, then go."

"You wouldn't mind?" I asked.

"I didn't want you driving at night alone, but if Auntie's with you, go for it."

So it was arranged. We'd leave around 8:00 that evening and drive straight through. We'd get a hotel room, as I hated imposing on relatives that late. It would make it a little more fun. I loved hotels. Grateful at how accommodating my husband was, I packed a bag.

By 7:30 we were loading presents and homemade goodies into the back of my station wagon. Armed with a cell phone and kisses and hugs from my husband and children, we left on our three- hour journey. It became a ladies night out. We brought Christmas CD's and played them along the way.

A few minutes later we witnessed the first snow flurries of the season. It was pretty, the white dusting on black pavement.

The snow fell harder. Within minutes it accumulated. I slowed to about forty-five. A rear-wheel drive, my car didn't do well in slippery conditions. Soon the snow was falling and blowing at a tremendous speed. Visibility was limited. Slowing to twenty-five miles an hour, I followed the white line to keep the car on the road. Whispering a silent prayer, I was frightened. I had my cell phone and a companion. We'd be okay. Without warning the pavement disappeared. The white line became invisible. Trying to stay on the road was difficult.

"You're off the highway," Colleen sounded alarmed.

Thinking I'd followed highway markers, I had instead gotten onto an exit ramp. The snow was deep, and we were in the middle of nowhere. Turning the car around and praying not to get stuck, we found our way back to the highway.

Conditions improved thirty minutes south of Bangor. By then we were laughing about our ordeal and preparing to enjoy our evening. Reaching our exit we watched for motels, deciding where we wanted to stop.

A country inn near the exit had always intrigued me. I'd never stayed there. Most overnights in Bangor included my children and required larger accommodations.

"Let's give it a try," I suggested.

The inn was beautifully adorned for Christmas. Our room was decorated in a country motif, and a large Christmas wreath hung outside the window. The falling snow made for a mesmerizing sight. Phoning my husband to announce our safe arrival I described the view.

"It looks like a scene from an old fashioned Christmas card," I said.

We spent the night talking, laughing, and watching television. It was one o'clock before we fell asleep.

In the morning I called my aunt to ask what time would be convenient to visit Gram.

"She was having trouble breathing, so they've taken her to the hospital," my aunt said.

My grandmother had a history of breathing difficulties and often needed nebulizer treatments to ease her congestion. The assisted living facility where she lived was used to these frequent trips to the hospital.

"I'll call you a little later and find out when to come up," I told my aunt.

We spent the rest of the morning browsing through bookstores and sipping hot cider..

Around one I called my aunt.

"They've decided to admit her," she said. "By the time you get there she'll be settled into her room."

Arriving only minutes later we took the elevator to the geriatric ward. Gram was in a wheel chair. The nurse was getting her ready for bed.

Her breathing was labored and it was a struggle to speak. I translated. I knew what she was trying to say. She pointed to her cheek and signaled to Colleen to plant a kiss. She indicated that her feet were cold, so the nurse found socks. When she ran her fingers over my shiny smooth nail polish it meant she needed a manicure.

"We'll get Karen here to do your nails," I told her. My sister often visited and did Gram's nails.

The afternoon passed quickly. Gram dozed from time to time. The strength with which she held my hand was extraordinary.

When our visit ended I whispered that her Christmas presents were at my aunt's house, and she'd better behave and not open them until Christmas.

"You're the best Christmas present," she told me. She said this every year.

Smiling, she reached for me. I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her.

From the doorway I heard her struggling to speak. "I love you," she said.

The trip home was uneventful. We arrived mid-evening to warm greetings from the family. After conveying my concerns about Gram I called my aunt to say we'd arrived home safely. She had just returned from the hospital after tucking Gram in for the night.

"She blew me a kiss," she said. "I told her I'd see her in the morning."

Gram died an hour later.

When the call came I was overwhelmed. How privileged I was to have spent such a peaceful afternoon with her.

In the two weeks before her death, Gram had seen most everyone in the family who lived within a reasonable driving distance. I hadn't seen her in nearly two months. Although we had spoken often, I know how much she cherished our time together.

The strength with which she held my hand was her sign to me that she was strong in heart and spirit. I know now that she was saying goodbye.

At her funeral I delivered the eulogy I had written the day before. I talked about her love and devotion to her family. I mentioned her strength that allowed her to raise six children alone after being widowed in her forties. And I talked about angels.

I said not to mourn our loss, but instead be grateful for the eighty-two years she spent on earth. I said that now, free from pain, Gram was living with the angels.

It was then I realized angels had been with us the day before she died. How else could I explain the sudden desire to go see her, when I had planned to go later that week? How else could I explain the miraculous Christmas gift of those last precious hours with my beloved grandmother?

Doubters try to explain away my belief, but they weren't in that hospital room. They didn't see her make eye contact or feel her strength, didn't witness the spark that still lived within her tired body. They didn't feel whatever suddenly compelled me to change my plans and drive to see her late that Saturday night. They didn't experience the blinding snowstorm through which we were guided.

Christmas angels brought me to my grandmother for a final kiss and reaffirmation of all my years with her love. She dwells with angels now. In comfort and joy she has rejoined loved ones who paved her way. With perfect peace she is smiling.