Christmas Magic ‘The Greatest Gift Of Love’

I didn’t know Cathy when she was an energetic teenager or when she married her childhood sweetheart, Matt, at 18.

I first met her after her mastectomy when she was 36 years old. Following the birth of her sixth daughter, a lump in Cathy’s breast had been misdiagnosed as an obstructed milk duct. The correct diagnoses - breast cancer - came too late.

As Cathy’s grief counselor, I understood her shock.

“I can’t believe it. God surely wouldn’t take me away from this baby.”

But as dark strands of hair appeared on her pillow and a bout of nausea folded her spirit, sobs shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

Matt held her throughout the long hours of night. This was the worst time of all.

In time, Cathy forgot about the cancer and busied herself being a wife and mother.summer her hair had grown back thicker than before.

“This has been the most wonderful year of my life,” she beamed.

I didn’t see Cathy until the following year. Anger spewed from her voice as she told me the cancer had spread to her liver and bones.

She was dying.

“It’s just not fair!” she cried.

That evening I met with the family. Cathy’s usual cheerful self had returned. “I don’t want to see any sad faces. I’m still alive, and I’m not going to let cancer control my life.”

Cathy wasn’t ready to die. She wanted to see Amanda get her driver’s license in January and to cheer until she was hoarse at Beth and Carol’s basketball games. She didn’t want to miss any of Darla’s piano concerts. Then there was little Emma, whose face lit up whenever Cathy showed up to help in her classroom.

Lastly, she wanted to string balloons throughout the house on Felicia’s third birthday and decorate a colorful clown cake.

But by fall, Cathy was in bed most of the time. Her face and eyes were yellow. The once strong legs were now swollen grotesquely.

Attached oxygen tubing made her nose sore and red. Severe bone pain was lessened by morphine injections around the clock.

Cathy sat in her wheelchair feverishly cross-stitching pillowcase after pillowcase until her fingers ached.

Somehow she found the energy to engineer placement of the Christmas tree ornaments and help her girls bake holiday treats for the neighbors.

Cathy’s face beamed each time friends and family arrived bearing gifts. Her laughter lingered in their hearts long after the visits were over.

To all who questioned her vibrancy, she explained: “Dying is just another adventure.”

As Christmas came closer, Cathy grew weaker. One day Matt drew me aside. “Let’s have an early Christmas for Cathy - just in case. The girls and I have written special letters to her. We’d like you to join us.”

Afternoon was falling when I returned. It was gray and wintry. I shivered in the sinking coldness. The house was dark and deadened. Soon Matt appeared, wheeling Cathy into the living room.

Christmas lights and music heightened my mood as the girls danced into the room. One by one they kneeled at their mother’s feet and, with voices wavering, read their letters.

Matt moved to his wife’s wheelchair, gently grasping her hands in his. I only remember the last words of his letter: “There are three things that will last forever. Faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is my love, dear wife of mine.”

Cathy’s face glowed. “Your letters are the greatest gift. Each one of you told me you loved me. But most important, each of you said. ‘And I know she loves me too.’ I could never leave you if you didn’t know that.”

Then Cathy presented her daughters with their own monogrammed pillowcase. “I want you to always feel me close.” There was a heavy power in the room.

That night six new pillowcases cradled the girls’ heads as they slept.

The call came two days later. Cathy was slipping in and out of consciousness. Snow was gently falling when I arrived. During a lucid moment, Cathy lifted her feverish eyes in triumph. As she smiled for the last time, she murmured, “It’s OK.”

As my eyes met Matt’s, I remembered his words. There are three things that will last forever. … The greatest is the gift of love.