LIFE LESSONS: Crystal Christmas
A Little Lady and One Mighty Big
Pair of Shoes
By Crystal Christmas
|
Crystal Christmas |
My dear Aunt Carol has been on my mind a lot
lately. After a long battle with cancer, she passed
away on May 5, 2000, but it somehow seems like
yesterday that we were sitting in her kitchen having
one of many late night heart-to-heart talks. For as
many years as I can remember, we traveled to her
house in the little town of Carencro, Louisiana for
crawfish boils on Good Friday, parades during the
annual Mardi Gras celebration, and various other
times during the year, mostly just for a visit with
her and Uncle Lester. I still go back as much as
possible, and now my kids enjoy my Cajun heritage on
those same occasions. The trip doesn't feel complete
without a stop in Iowa, a little town between Lake
Charles and Lafayette for a “sno-ball.” Our cousins
own the only sno-cone stand in town, and even if the
stand is closed, Susan opens it up for us, crushes
the ice, and gives us our fill of our favorite
flavors.
Aunt Carol left a legacy of people behind who
shared one major thing – their love for her. She had
a way about her that impacted people. It was
unobtrusive and real, leaving a quiet and lasting
impression. She was an all-around great person, a
nurse by trade, and skilled in all kinds of domestic
areas, like cooking and sewing, and hand-painting
little ceramic figurines for every holiday. Just
about every year when we were little, my sisters and
I would receive a brand new handmade stocking for
Santa to fill. On her last Christmas with us, Aunt
Carol laid in bed while she instructed me on how to
decorate one for my own brand new baby girl. It was
a sad moment then, but each year when I pull that
stocking out for the holidays, I find that the
memory is even more precious than it was the last
year.
Andrew was two when Aunt Carol was first
diagnosed with cancer. She had taken a small step
off a concrete driveway and her thigh bone
shattered. During surgery to reconstruct the bone,
the doctor discovered a large tumor in the knee area
that had caused weakness in the bone. I drove to
Louisiana with my mom to see her in the hospital,
where she laid unable to move her leg, until they
could figure out what to do. Shortly thereafter, she
came to Houston where her leg was amputated at M.D.
Anderson, and she received radiation and
chemotherapy. It all happened really fast, and she
told me a few times she “missed” her leg, but she
never complained. Once her cancer had gone into
remission and she regained her strength, she tried
to use a prosthetic leg, but resigned herself to a
wheelchair and crutches after many unsuccessful
attempts. I heard that she fell a lot when she would
try, but I never once saw her cry or feel sorry for
herself.
We laughed a lot about the trials she went
through. She always started the humor off by saying
things like, “You know what one of the good things
about only having one leg is?” She would quickly
follow-up with, “You only have one foot, which means
you don't have to match up socks when they come out
of the dryer!” For Christmas one year, we gave her a
box of all our socks that we couldn’t find matches
to. She thought this was a great idea, and her
laughter was contagious that day.
Aunt Carol said that cancer, like any other
hardship, was a “character builder.” On one of the
days she didn’t feel well she joked, “I think I'm
gonna tell God that I don't need any more
character.”
I remember a particular late night in her
kitchen, after all the dishes were cleaned and
everyone was sleeping, when we talked for a while
about why things happen and how we sometimes
overlook blessings because we are busy focusing on
our hardships. I asked her, “If you had a choice,
would you have given up an arm instead of your leg?”
She didn’t even think twice before she answered, “No
way.” It was clear that even through her suffering,
she was still the same positive and insightful woman
she had always been. She added, “At least I have
another one! And besides, if I had lost an arm,
there are a lot more things I wouldn't be able to
do.”
A lot more things... like putting your arms
around someone you love and embracing them. Boy, she
was really good at that. I read about a church a few
months ago that had challenged its congregation to
be complaint-free for 21 days
www.acomplaintfreeworld.org. Apparently this is
the amount of time that studies show it takes to
form a new habit or get rid of an old one. They did
this by wearing a bracelet and switching it from arm
to arm each time they complained about something.
Eventually, the bracelet would stay on the same arm
for the full three weeks. After hearing about it, I
talked to my children about trying it at home. Only
one of them embraced the idea and rose to the
challenge. The two of us quickly found that it isn't
as easy as we thought it would be. Many, many weeks
later, neither of us had made it a full 21 days
without slipping up, but we definitely became more
aware of how much complaining we were doing.
I bet if Aunt Carol were still here on this
earth, she would have mastered the task of having a
complaint-free life. As I reflect on her impact on
this world, on what would have been her 65th
birthday this year, I am reminded that sometimes the
end comes much sooner than we anticipated. She was
such a gem of a woman; I wonder how I could ever
live up to being even half the person she was. No
one who knew her would argue against the fact that
this little five-foot nothin’ lady left some mighty
big shoes to be filled.
“Look for the blessings, Crystal,” I remind
myself.
“Aha!” I exclaim in my mind. “Here's an easy
one... I am lucky enough to have come from the same
family tree she did!” A smile of relief is quickly
followed by a single tear in the corner of my eye. I
wish Aunt Carol was here for just one more of those
late night talks in that kitchen... That kitchen
that always had a nearly-ripened tomato sunning
itself on the windowsill... That kitchen where the
most tender roast you ever put in your mouth was
made by a cook who balanced on one leg as she leaned
against the stove preparing it... That kitchen,
where the Easter Bunny came year after year to leave
baskets of goodies on the table for two generations
of children...
It was in that kitchen, with its linoleum floors
and sunflower printed curtains where my aunt
bestowed her wisdom on me from early childhood into
my adult years. I closed my eyes to fight back the
tears that still come when I miss her and imagined
she and I were there. For a moment, I felt like I
was when I heard her voice say, “Crystal... You
gotta do what you gotta do, but you aren't gonna get
nothin' done by sittin' there, so let's get on this
so we can get some rest.”
That was Aunt Carol's way. With a smile on her
face, she marched, even on one leg, full steam
ahead... always doing what needed to be done, while
never neglecting what could be done, and never, ever
complaining about the obstacles in her way.
And now I had decided, it was going to be my way
too. I opened my eyes and brushed away the tears as
I tilted my head back and looked upward to Heaven
before I whispered the only response that was
appropriate to give to such a well-respected, classy
lady...
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “Yes, ma'am.” |
