I love my memories of Christmases past. The ones when our boys were little are the ones I cherish most. This Christmas, after a snow cancelled flight and driving a rental car through the night with friends we just made at the airport, Diane and I arrived for a week’s stay at our oldest son’s house in Michigan’s UP. It was our first reunion with our grown up sons, their wives and kids (is it a re-union if it’s the first time?).
One Christmas morning years ago, Diane gave me a 1957 Chevy (click here to read about that). That’s a memory that’s hard to beat, but this year was our best Christmas yet. Holding and interacting with our little grandchildren was priceless. Witnessing how our sons love their wives and kids was rewarding. Diane got to ski again after many years, and I got to take pictures with my new camera (shot hundreds, shoulda taken more). We played in the house and we played in the snow.
My younger son, Robin, gave me a flying camera, a drone. My first flying lesson began by launching it from the ice covered snow in the garden. I hope it’s a good memory for my three year old grandson, Kellen, when he hugged the gate for protection like I told him, as the nearly controlled drone buzzed over his head to awkwardly touchdown behind him in the back yard.
This Christmas could have only been better if, on top of being with our kids and grand kids, I received another classic Chevy. Well, actually, my oldest son, Brandon, did give me a 57 Chevy he made with his computer and router.
I hope this gathering was a preview of Christmases future.
A few weeks after returning home, I was in Portland to help my brother, Mark, prepare to move. Later, we drove over to see our brother Dan at his Alpha Stone Works shop. While Dan was showing me the new stone cutter (he went to Germany to buy) he asked how I was, and if my cancer was gone now. I explained that Multiple Myeloma doesn’t go away, but I’m doing okay right now, and that I get tested every three months to monitor the cancer. I told him, “I expect to do that for the rest of my life….. Get it? For the rest of my life?” Because next time the cancer activates, or the time after that – one of those times will be the last time, and the following result will be my life ending. Usually quite stoic, he let out a hearty chuckle. He appreciated that dark humor enough to recount it later at the restaurant with the five of us at the table. We all enjoyed a good laugh (though some politely tried to resist), not over the inevitable end of my life, but from stumbling upon a little sarcastic humor in the situation.
I remain thankful to God for a life full of blessings.