A Christmas to Savor.

Finding Strength.

A blue glow from the bedside table’s humidifier backlit and outlined her profile. It also puffed out silent relief. The home’s hot-air heating made sure the mist moved. Like clouds above a heavily forested valley, they crept in. They warned of bad weather to climbers above who were on their way to the summit.

Lucy slept.

I didn’t.

Chemo had caused her thick brown hair to take a vacation. But a rebel force had dared remain. Like a duck chick, it fuzzed proudly. My eyes traced the bald curve down to her forehead, past her eyebrows, which were the true leaders of the chemical resistance. Her lips were comfortably closed and pretty.

She had a cold. And our eight year old also had leukemia. Her breathing was steady. There was peace in each exhale. I matched the rise and fall of my lungs with hers. My breathing became peaceful too. It was a gift. For it hadn’t always been so during these past months. Turned on my left side, I gazed at her off and on all night like only a grandma-in-love could.

Our Lucy represented all that was good in our lives. And at the same time, inside her body’s blood, unwanted markers lay in wait. Our finiteness was evident. She and I shared humanity’s life outside of Eden. It was a life of exile until we were both home. Grandmother and grand daughter, with the same hope of restoration and of our life-to-come.

My fingers couldn’t resist touching her right cheek, being careful not to wake her. She was my 6th grandchild and she was special - all seven of them were.

Her Mommy and Daddy were on a much needed overnighter and were a mere 12 minutes away. I was in charge. Her four siblings slept soundly in their beds. They were mine to watch over.

Lucy is facing her biggest challenge. It is coming soon - on December 30th. The last of 2024 will bring the pinnacle of life-saving medical intervention at Arkansas Children's Hospital, oncology unit. Intolerable symptoms and reactions, will be present the next weeks, or so the doctors have warned. I dread it. Mark dreads it. We all do.

The sharpest gray, slippery boulders and the steepest part of her life’s ice-climb are in sight. No path remains now. Only a strong rope and littered proof that others have gone before her. And that they have made it. She can too.

The sheer vertical ascent is the way to the snowy summit. But from this lack-of-oxygen point, the summit, Daniel and Kayla will dizzily plant their parental flag of relief. It will stand strong and flap in the cold wind. They can then begin the slow, careful descent back down to a kinder, more gentle base camp called ‘the maintenance phase.’

The last hours of Saturday morning, I finally nodded off.

She coughed at 5:15am. Her nose was stuffy.

“Want G to get you some warm honey tea?”

“Sure. Thanks G.”

In the pre dawn, Christmas week quiet, we sipped our hot liquids. All snuggled up in bed, we talked about many things. Her voice was pure and lacked burden.

“Oh Abba, in your mercy, hear from heaven and strengthen us for the climb next week.”