“For our time on earth is as the passing of a shadow . . ..” Wisdom 2:5
There is nothing original to add to the prose and poetry, ancient and contemporary, religious and secular, on the importance of Family. But given that this is the season of the Holy Family and, if not by recent practice, then by heritage, because the vast majority of Americans are Christian and Christmas (and Easter) people, I share this personal story.
It began with a call from a close relative; a telephone conversation that may have lasted 20 minutes at most. He has been deceased for some time now. For reasons of distance and time, no one in his immediate family is likely to read this or learn of my disclosure. Nevertheless, I have limited descriptions and specifics out of respect for their privacy.
It was on a Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks into December years ago that I received the familiar telephone call that comes from old friends and relatives at this time of year. This one was from my cousin. We had known each other since childhood. In years long past we shared many Christmases together at our parents’ dinner tables.
After opening seasonal pleasantries, mixed with small talk self-evaluating the preceding months in our separate professions, the fluctuating weather in our respective parts of the country, and briefly recounting business and pleasure travels over the previous months, eventually and innocently I asked about his Christmas plans.
My unmarried relative, close in age to me, said that he had no plans for Christmas. His words came as a surprise, because his grown son and young family lived less than a half-day’s drive away. So, I asked why he wasn’t going to spend Christmas with his son, daughter-in-law, and their young children – his grandchildren. He answered that he and his son had an ongoing “disagreement.” The elder’s unilateral conclusion was that, since they did not get along, it was better they did not get together.
In other years, following the adage to “mind your own business,” I would have made no comment beyond a weak, “I’m sorry to hear that.” But on this particular afternoon I heard myself exclaiming, “It’s Christmas time!” Continuing, I reminded him that he had only one child. From that child’s marriage he had been blessed with three grandchildren (and counting). They were little ones too. Everyone wants to be with loved ones, and when those loved ones include the very young it makes the celebration all the more magical.
Whatever the disagreement, “your fault or his fault, serious or petty” (he never said, so I imagined it to be the latter), I implored immediate reconciliation. “You’re the father,” I said. “You be the wise one. You be the forgiving one.” And let the forgiveness be “final and forever.” Concluding, almost demanding, “What is more important than Family?”
Except for the final sentence, including capitalization of the last word, the quotes are by no means exact. But they do accurately reflect the tenor of the advice. Frankly, I don’t know from where my admonitions and pleas came. But they must have been meaningful to the ear on the other end of the line.
Months later I learned that, after reaching out to his son, my dear cousin had spent an easy Christmas with Family. It was the start of many happy visits where he was father to his son and his son’s wife and grandfather to their children. In our infrequent communications thereafter, my changed relative talked little about business, sports, or politics, but a lot about his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. By cell or email, he began sharing with me photographs of those little children riding ponies, hugging dogs, and holding rabbits or other pets. (They live on a farm.) Other pictures were taken at meals in their home and on picnics by the seashore. There was warmth in the pictures. Just as there was warmth in his descriptions of those who were in them.
Three years, two Christmases, later he died. His funeral was in a white clapboard country church where his mother had been baptized as a baby early in the last century; and where his son’s family now worshipped. At the funeral service, following the minister’s brief eulogy and sermon, that son paid a moving and tearful tribute to his father. Forgotten (at least not mentioned) were the wasted years that they had been estranged for whatever reason; something that was of no earthly or eternal significance now.
You may think this piece is sentimental, or pretentious. Think what you will. I have shared the personal, familial experience not for false praise or to take up a column with what I think you should think. Rather, it is told in the hope that someone might receive grace or inspiration from it.
It is from my experience that I share the sliver of time from a past December Sunday afternoon phone call with a father who was estranged from his son. But I believe the message, advice if you will, applies to all loved ones: parents, children, and others.
In song and verse over more than a thousand years and in more than a thousand ways we’ve been told and reminded about the meaning of love and the greatest love. It is deep. It is forgiving. And, forever, it begins and ends with Family. If only one reader sees himself or herself in the story, and acts, perhaps what would have been an otherwise lonely day will be a happy Christmas.
Chip Williams is a Northsider.
