Mangia! Mangia!
Mom's best Christmas gift lasts
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

Preface: It's not easy to lose a family member.

It's even more difficult when the person passes before the holidays.

This column is dedicated to those share this painful experience.

It started with a phone call the afternoon of Thursday, Dec. 19, 1996.

"Mom's in the hospital," my brother John said slowly and deliberately

"What happened?" I asked with cold chills running through my body.

"She hasn't been herself since her roommate died two weeks ago. She's been depressed and won't eat and keeps saying first God took Daddy and now Elizabeth and why won't he take her," he answered, as though he had time to analyze what was happening.

"Is it serious? Should I jump on a plane and come out there? Can we wait until next week when we are supposed to drive to California?" I fired off.

"She's had a small stroke. It could be urgent or she could hang on. The doctor doesn't know how serious, but the next couple of hours should tell."

"John, I hate to leave Bob's parents all alone here in a Nursing Home on Christmas Day. Why don't we pray about it and see what our options are."

"Okay, Sis. I'll keep you posted."

In a couple of hours, my brother called back.

"It looks like there's no reason for you to rush out," he said. "Let's go with your original plan and wait until next week.

"I'll keep you up to date, I promise. Here's the hospital phone number," he added.

Johnny kept his word.

He stopped in at the hospital in Garden Grove before going to work at his barbershop Friday morning, at lunchtime and on the way home after work.

Each time he called and told me there was no change. She was lying peacefully but did not respond to him when he talked to her.

"It's strange not seeing her eyes light up and a big smile come on her face when I say hello," he mused.

Saturday was pretty much the same story. "No change, Sis."

"Let's just keep praying, John. Mom's in God's hands."

On Sunday morning, I awaked early.

The chorus "Rejoice. Rejoice . . .Emmanuel . . . ," kept playing through my brain.

"Mom's dead," I told my husband when he got up and found me sitting at the kitchen counter.

"How do you know? I didn't hear the phone ring," he said.

"I had a premonition and couldn't go back to sleep. I got up to call the hospital but it's just 3:30 AM back there."

"A premonition? Oh that's an Italian thing," he comforted. "Call the hospital. You'll see."

Gratefully, I got through to the nurse's station.

The woman who answered the phone humored me. "Mrs. Chiarenza was fine when I checked in on her a little while ago. I'll go look again. Hold on"

"She's sleeping peacefully," the nurse came back to say in a few minutes. "Now don't you worry about your mother. We'll keep you up to date."

But I did worry. All through Sunday Mass, all Sunday afternoon and throughout the early evening.

"Ann, if your mother is ready to go, you and your brother have to give her permission, " my dear friend Nancy said when I called her to tell her about Mom.

"Johnny, we've got to release her. When you go to the hospital tonight, tell her I love her and it's okay for her to go to be with Daddy."

"I already told her that. I'll tell her what you said."

Mom made it through another night and I slept through another night with that Christmas song going through my head.

The next morning, I had an appointment to call on Ayer Medical Center. "My mother's had a stroke," I told Nurse Brenda.

"Oh, My grandmother had one last year and held on like that for months," she sympathized.

Walking back to the newspaper office afterwards, I thought about it. I want to see my mother again. But I didn't want her living like a vegetable for day after day. "She's in your hands, Lord.· I prayed. Your timing is perfect."

Back at my desk, at about 11:20, I had a phone call. "It's your brother," said Anita, giving me time to prepare myself.

"Mom's gone," he said.

"I'll see you Friday, John," I said fighting back my tears. "We'll talk later."

I put down the phone, rushed through the double doors to production where the public couldn't see me and then, as they say in the vernacular, "lost it."

The next several hours were busy with details of the funeral arrangements, tying up loose ends at work

"John, I don't think your Pastor should do Mom's, like when Daddy died," I said.

"Then I won't be there," Johnny responded.

"But Mom lived as a Roman Catholic. I think she should have a Catholic service. "

"That's fine. I won't be there.

"Okay with me," I said as I hung up the phone.

I could not believe what just happened. It was the first time my brother and I had argued since we were kids.

"Johnny won't go with a Catholic service," I told Leonard Ferrara, our funeral director and long time friend of the family.

"That was fine for Daddy," I added, "but Mom was a Catholic all her life she should have a Catholic service," I said digging in my heels.

There was a pause and then Leonard answered, "Antoinette, I've been in this business for a long time. I've seen families break up and never speak to each other again. It isn't worth it. Think about it."

"Okay, I will," I said. I sat at my desk and thought about what was most important for those of us left behind.

"Ok, John, call Mike and see if he can do Mom's service," I said swallowing a lot of pride. "I'll see you Friday."

The next several days were the saddest of my entire life. It was bad when my father died, but Mom's leaving was so much worse, and especially just before Christmas.

I told my husband, "I know how much my mother hated spending another Christmas without Daddy.

"And, I know she is happy with her beloved Jesus on His birthday. But I feel sad and guilty that I was not with her when she died."

And then Bob spoke the kindest, sweetest, and wisest words: "Ann, don't you think if God wanted you to be there with her, you would have been?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I answered, putting my guilt away forever.

There's a poem entitled "I'm spending Christmas with Jesus this year.

That year, and every year since, I remind myself that my mother got the best Christmas gift ever in 1996: Mom got to spend Christmas with Jesus that year.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.

I miss you Mom.

Love, Antoinette,

I'm spending Christmas with Jesus this year I see the countless Christmas trees Around the world below With tiny lights, like Heaven's stars Reflecting on the snow The sight is so spectacular Please wipe away that tear For I'm spending Christmas With Jesus Christ this year I hear the many Christmas songs That people hold so dear But the sounds of music can't compare With the Christmas choir up here For I have no words to tell you The joy their voices bring For it is beyond description To hear the angels sing I know how much you miss me I see the pain inside your heart For I'm spending Christmas With Jesus Christ this year I can't tell you of the splendor Or the peace here in this place Can you just imagine Christmas With our savior, face to face I'll ask him to light your spirit As I tell him of your love So then pray for one another As you lift your eyes above So please let your hearts be joyful And let your spirit sing For I'm spending Christmas in heaven And I'm walking with the King.

-- author unknown

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.