There are days or I probably should say nights when I am sitting in my chair in the family room, Lilly in bed, and me wide awake. Too much time to think about too many things, so I often open my laptop and my first stop is always this website. I of course already know what is here, as I am the one who made this site, and I am the one who puts up pictures or posts new journal entries. I have looked at every page of this site more often than I care to admit.
Many people ask me how I'm doing, some ask if there is anything they can do for me and a few reach out to inquire if I need anything. More often than not, my answer is the same. "I'm o.k. No, I'm good, I don't need anything." I am sure that sometimes it may not sound or seem that way, but it is true. Now, as time has gone by, I have realized that there is something that helps me, something I need. I knew it was important, but the level of how much it means to me became even more apparent with the story of The Snowflake. You see, as I sit each night and log on to this site, I am eagerly anticipating, hoping, that I might find a note from YOU! Ahhh yes, the generic YOU. Because as I said, I know what I have put on this site. I don't know what YOU might put here.
This story is not written by me. It was given to me by my Mom. My Mom is the real writer in the family and she shows it here as I was led down the path of emotions with twists, turns and character development that would make even the best novelist jealous. So please enjoy the story of The Snowflake.
A few days before Christmas, I found myself at the Galleria Mall looking for a gift for my family Christmas party. Usually, at that point of the Christmas season, I stay away from the malls, but our party was the Friday after Christmas and, as yet, I had not found a gift.
About an hour later, gift in hand, I started walking back to Penney’s to retrieve my car. I was walking quickly (well, quickly for me) when my eyes caught sight of a table set up on the inside of the walkway. There were a few woman sitting behind the table, and upon the table itself, I saw that there was some sort of merchandise. Eager to get home, and not interested in purchasing anything else, I walked past the table, barely giving it a sideways glance. But that sideways glance was long enough for me to catch a glimpse of a long banner attached to the front of the table. In large, bold letters, the banner read, HOSPICE.
My mother had passed away five years ago while in the care of Hospice. The care she received, and the people who looked after her, were wonderful; and since then, I have made it a habit to donate to them whenever possible. So, seeing that it was Hospice, and realizing they were selling items to support their organization, I backtracked and went up to the table.
They were selling ornaments. Snowflake ornaments. Nothing fancy… In fact, they were quite simple. They were flat… not three dimensional… and they appeared to be made of a thick paper, or cardboard. But they were pretty ornaments… about three inches long… painted white, and sprinkled with a silvery blue glitter. And each one had a baby blue ribbon attached to the top. As I held one in my hand looking at it, I realized there was a tag attached to the ribbon, and on the tag, there was a saying. Loving sayings the way I do, to me, this made the ornament even nicer.
“Three dollars,” the woman was saying. “But if you buy two, they’re two for five.” I could easily have purchased two… They certainly were priced reasonably enough. In fact, I wanted to buy two, to sort of give them more of a donation. But after reading the saying on the tag, I knew I could only purchase one… for the saying was perfect… and there was only one person the snowflake was meant for… Lilly. When I arrived home, I put the ornament in a place where no one would see it, and said nothing to anyone about my purchase. This was too special, and it was going to be a special gift for Lilly, from me.
As the days went by, however, the more I looked at the snowflake, and the more I thought about it, the more the realization of giving it to Lilly as a Christmas gift set in. I thought about our Christmas celebration… the day our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren would all be here to open up presents from each other… Tons of presents… presents stacked high, here and there about our living room floor. I saw the grandchildren… eagerly unwrapping presents… looking forward to some exciting toy or, with the older ones, some exciting article of clothing. I thought of the confusion of so many gifts being opened at once… the chaos of wrapping paper being sent through air to the person in charge of the big, black garbage bag. I heard voices… lots of voices… little kid voices and adult voices… calling out, from everywhere, their jubilation, appreciation, and gratitude. Yes… that’s the picture I saw in my mind. I knew it well, for it had been occurring for many, many years.
As my reverie continued, I pictured Lilly amidst all of that commotion, excitedly opening up her gift… eager to see what the box contained. I saw her quickly opening up the wrapping paper…pushing the tissue paper aside… and pulling out… a snowflake. A flat, white, glittery snowflake. And I could hear her father, the usual excitement in his voice, ask, “What is it, Lil?” And Lilly, in a rather quiet, subdued voice, which we don’t often get from her, would simply reply, “A snowflake.” Then, Matthew, trying very hard, for my sake, to pique Lilly’s interest, would add even more excitement to his voice and call out, “It’s an ornament, Lil! And listen to what’s written on it!” Distractedly, Lilly would listen, and after saying something like, “Oh!” she would quickly say, “Can I open another present, Daddy?” Yes, in my mind, I could picture the scene very well. I could even see Matthew continuing to look at the snowflake, reading the tag again, and with sincere appreciation say, “Thanks mom! That’s really nice!” Nice… Really nice. Gratitude for sure… but I knew in my heart that he didn’t have the same picture in his mind that I had in mine.
Disappointed with the results of that scenario, I tried to envision other ways I could give Lilly my gift. I pictured giving it to her when she was alone, without all that commotion around her… giving it to Matthew, for him and Lilly… But no matter how hard I tried, I could not conjure up the impact I was looking for… the passion and excitement that I felt when I had purchased it… the picture I had seen in my mind… the meaning behind my purchase. They just weren’t there. But then, I thought, how could they be? After all, Lilly was just a child… a five year old child… too little… too young to conjure up visions. She could only see the snowflake for what it was… a snowflake… a white, papery snowflake. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, too, that she rarely gets to see snow. Oh, it snows in Charlotte now and then… and she does get to see some at Christmas time when they come up… but for the most part… it holds no meaning for her. It’s not really a part of her life, like it is for us here in Buffalo. She doesn’t have that excitement of looking out the window at the first snowfall… or the excitement of looking at a snowflake… an individual snowflake… as it floats down from the sky and lands on your coat. She’s seen piles of snow… but I’m sure she has never realized that each pile of snow is made up of millions and millions of tiny snowflakes. And although her father still feels the excitement of snow, it’s a different kind of excitement. It’s the excitement of seeing snow come down in Charlotte, a place that doesn’t get much snow… or the excitement of taking his daughter sledding in it… But not so much the excitement of seeing the beauty of the snow…the fact that each snowflake is a different size… a different shape… or the fact that when you look up at the sky, there are billions of individual snowflakes drifting down upon you. No, I couldn’t see either one of them having that kind of appreciation… and I needed them to.
Yes, all of these thoughts were running through my mind as I looked at the ornament. When I had purchased it, I was filled with such excitement and enthusiasm. But, now, looking at it, I knew the only way either of them could really appreciate it, was if they could stand outside in the middle of their lawn, faces tilted up, and feel the soft touch of each snowflake as it floated down upon them. And I just couldn’t see that happening. Disappointed, and a bit dejected at where my thoughts had taken me, I slowly put the snowflake back into its place. Maybe next year, I thought. I could take it down to Charlotte in the fall, and they could put it on their tree come December. Maybe… We’ll see.
I did not give the ornament to Lilly for Christmas. In fact, I had talked myself out of it so well, that I honestly didn’t give it another thought until I read Matthew’s Christmas story on his website, and saw the pictures of his house on Christmas day, with the snow falling, and the one green candle glowing in the middle of his and Lori’s bedroom… green, because it was the closest color he could get to teal… the color for ovarian cancer. In his story, he talked about how he felt the presence of Lori… The catalogues that were arriving by the dozens… catalogues from which Lori had ordered gifts for Lilly, thus guiding him in his purchase of gifts for their daughter… The angel at the top of the tree… Lori, looking over them… The bear in the bottom of the box… the bear Lori had made… but which he couldn’t recall having seen in past Christmases. How did it get there? When was it put there? He didn’t even remember ever seeing it in the box before. Again… Lori’s presence.
As I continued to read his story and look at his pictures, I could truly appreciate Matthew feeling that Lori was there with them… guiding him and Lilly to have a happy Christmas… and letting him know that she would always be there with them. I could understand and appreciate it, because I, too, felt the presence of Lori… when I purchased the snowflake… and read the saying on the tag. I felt the saying was a message... a message from Lori… not me. I was only the messenger. But the message was one she wanted them to hear… One she wanted them to know. And it was at that point that I realized that giving the snowflake to Lilly was all a matter of timing… and I had missed it.
For the timing to have been right, I would have had to have been there, in Charlotte, on Christmas Day… And I wasn’t. But how could I have known that Charlotte would receive its first Christmas snow in sixty years? And not just a few flurries… but a measureable snowfall. And how could I have known that Matthew and Lilly would have had the opportunity to be out there… standing on the front lawn, looking up at the house… at the green candle glowing in the bedroom window, while hundreds upon hundreds of large, fluffy snowflakes came down upon them. I couldn’t have known… nor could they. But had I known… and had I been able to be there… I could have then given Lilly my gift… the snowflake… with the blue ribbon… and the tag with a message. And then… and only then… would they both have appreciated it… understood the real meaning of it… and had confirmed, what Matthew already knew… That Lori was with them… and loved them, because the message on the tag would have told them that. So, as I looked at the picture of the house, although Matthew and Lilly were not in it, I pictured them in it… just in front of the camera. Matthew, with one knee to the ground, so he could be at Lilly’s level… his right arm gently embracing her… his left hand pointing up to the sky as he read the message to Lilly… the message that Lori had sent… the message she wanted them to hear… “Snowflakes are kisses sent from heaven.” And, there, on his front lawn that Christmas evening, while the two of them looked up at the glow of the green light in the bedroom window, he and Lilly would have been feeling hundreds upon hundreds of snowflake kisses from Lori.
Although Matthew and Lilly have yet to receive the ornament, I now know that giving it to them in the fall is not a maybe, but a must. For even though the opportunity for it this year was missed, I feel that now, after reading my story, both he and Lilly, no matter where they may find themselves when it is snowing, will look up, and feel each falling snowflake in a whole new way. And I can picture, in my mind, Matthew taking Lilly’s hand, looking up toward the sky, and saying, “Look Lil, look! Mommy is sending us kisses!” And every year, when they look at the snowflake hanging on their Christmas tree, they will be reminded of Christmas 2010 when Lori, from heaven, not only sent them a sign of her presence, but zillions and zillions of snowflake kisses as a sign of her love.
~ Joyce DuBois ~
Thank you MOM! Appreciation is an odd thing. I don't know if I can even explain to any of you how it makes me feel, when I log on to this site and find a new entry in the memory book, a nice remark left in the comment box or an email in my account from someone sharing a story, a picture, a thought or a prayer. And although sometimes it makes me cry, it also makes me smile. So no matter how long or short, in-depth or brief, please feel free to leave a note. It means the world to me...... and to Lori, since I read everyone of these to her too!