Beautiful Star of Bethlehem

by Lori Copeland

  Frances nods. “Me, too.” She glances at the pile of papers. “Like sort those.”

  The RN continues. “The hardest is to tell someone that because of unforeseen circumstances, the facility—especially the staff—must downsize.”

  Nodding, Frances listens.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Nodding, Frances smiles. “I’m getting fired.”

  “No. Laid off.”

  “Not fired.”

  “No, not fired, but you aren’t to come to work until I send word that the budget cuts are over and we are free to resume a full office staff.”

  “Okay.” Frances’s gaze roams the work area. “I’m getting a little worn out from getting up so early.”

  “You can sleep in now.” The nurse gives her a gentle pat. “All day, if you want.”

  “Okay.” Frances picks up her purse and hooks the strap over her arm. “I’ll wait in my room until you send for me.”

  “Yes—thank you. You don’t have to remain in your room; just don’t come to work mornings.”

  “What about my Christmas bonus?”

  By now the nurse is shuffling folders. “I’ll have it delivered to your room.”

  “Okay. Merry Christmas.”

  “Same to you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack Jr. and Missy rarely come at the same time anymore.

  The thought strikes me Sunday afternoon, late in the day. Tension between the couple is noticeable, even to me. Snappish answers directed at each other, no eye-to-eye contact. I’d say there is trouble brewing, but then what do I know?

  Holiday festivities brighten my spirit, and I think I’ve caught a little of the Christmas spirit going around. I begin to worry about gifts. Seems everyone is talking about what to get someone for Christmas. I know nothing about my children’s lives now. Steven and Julee and the little blond-headed girl come. We have a good time, and I treasure the moments that I spend with little Ella, but I want to see my Ella. My goodness, at the rate I’m going, my grandchild will be potty trained before I meet her. Not really, but she must be getting close to nine months old. Why doesn’t someone bring her to meet me?

  Rays of late-afternoon sunshine dance on my carpet when Jack and Melissa settle on my sofa. “Well, this is nice,” I say. “I haven’t seen the two of you together in a while, have I?”

  Jack avoids the woman’s eyes. “It’s a busy world, Mom.”

  “I know, but never too busy to stop and take the time to love one another.”

  Melissa’s gaze shifts to the watercolor landscape above my head.

  “You know, Jack.” I slide to the edge of my chair and take his hand. I rarely initiate touch. Nobody “feels” right. But today I’m braver. “I once knew a couple who had a blessed marriage. Their friends—every last one of them—wanted to know their secret. And they had one.”

  Melissa’s gaze shifts back to me.

  “The woman confided to me that the marriage had not always been good. They encountered their fair share of…” I search for the word.

  “Marital problems?” Melissa supplies.

  “I believe that is the term. For a while, the young couple even went their separate ways, only to discover that being apart made them more miserable than being together. As time passed and the woman cried herself to sleep at night, and the man downed sleeping pills to get a night’s rest, they both started to reevaluate the separation. Was what they were going through to be apart worth the agony? They both agreed that they once loved the other enough to commit their lives to a union, to parent children together.”

  Smiling, I reach for Melissa’s hand. Her skin is cold to the touch. “I might not know what day it is, and I can’t recall my birth date, and I have no idea who the president of the United States is or the children in the various pictures hanging on the wall. But the one and only thing that is clear in my mind is that I know that love is only as solid as the man and woman’s commitment. Grass is never greener on the other side; there’s just more grass with the same stubborn weeds.”

  Sighing, I drop their hands and sit back, lost in vague reflections. The night that we reconciled, Jack and I climbed the stairs to the attic and located the star of Bethlehem Christmas ornament, and together we hung it on our mantle, a reminder of the most perfect love given to mankind, even if it was August in Vermont.

  Silence lengthens. Finally Jack clears his throat. “You’re speaking about you and Dad, aren’t you? I didn’t know you ever had trouble. I always thought the two of you had the perfect marriage.”

  “Me and Jack?” I burst out laughing. “There is no perfect anything, Jackie.” The boyhood name slips out. “Jack can give as well as receive. Every marriage is slightly off-kilter, but you learn to deal with it.” I pause and frown. “Was I talking about your father?”

  His gaze slides to Melissa. “Mom, sometimes the stress builds. You do crazy things….”

  “Things you don’t mean. Maybe you misstate feelings when emotions run high,” Melissa adds. Their eyes meet and hold.

  I sigh. “I often ask myself, ‘What is happiness, anyway?’ It’s just a word, and its value isn’t found in material things or in other people. It’s a state of mind, one never driven by circumstances. A person can search all his life only to discover the one thing he is looking for is patiently sitting on his doorstep.”

  Jack Jr. shakes his head. “You’re remarkable. After everything you’ve been through and you can still find worth in life.”

  “They say God looks after fools and idiots.” I grin. “I prefer the former.”

  When I see the couple out, an attendant rolls a cart down the corridor. A young man walks beside him. Jack Jr.’s eyes focus on the young woman who appears to be asleep. She puts me in mind of a young Melissa. Approximate age, small build, and dark hair. When Jack Jr. pauses to supportively shake the husband’s hand (one of my Jack’s traits), the man leans into him for the briefest of moments, clearly broken. I hear him say that a stroke has left his wife severely brain damaged and paralyzed. “She’s thirty-three.”

  The shattered expression in my son’s eyes tells me that he recognizes that he’s failed to acknowledge his abundant blessings.

  In life, grass is only grass.

  I don’t know what’s going on in Jack Jr. and Melissa’s marriage. They may be happier than they’ve ever been or near the brink of despair, but if my being a mother has helped one tiny iota tonight, I couldn’t or wouldn’t ask for more.

  The little blond girl who comes at Halloween is here again! The little cherub is growing up so fast that I barely recognize her. For some reason, she’s here today, and she’s not wearing a costume.

  Her kisses and hugs are sweet and enthusiastic, and when I ask her age she holds up five fingers.

  When Una stops by later, I try to explain how very much I miss my family. I think something bad has happened to Jack. The odd looks and abrupt change of subject when I mention his name leave me with stark fear that my love did not survive the accident. His absence leaves a crater in my heart so deep and endless that I know I’ll never climb out. I tell myself that I must accept his absence, but my heart refuses the unspeakable loss.

  Una has more wisdom than Solomon. She tells me, “You’re a Christian, Arlene. You and your husband accepted the Lord at an early age. One day soon, you and Jack will be together. The brief time spent together on earth cannot compare with the eternal life you will spend together.”

  “If that’s so, why doesn’t someone tell me? Why do they leave me to guess about his absence?”

  “Well, it’s possible, dear,” Una says in her wise way, “the doctors have warned that telling you everything about your prior life will only make matters worse.”

  This is the first thing Una has ever said that I find hard to believe. Right now, Jack is gone and each day it gets harder for me to hold on to hope.

  My hand lifts to touch my temple. I’m not feeling well tonight. I sneeze twice during dinner, a
nd the headache at the base of my neck throbs.

  When I complain to the nurse, she says, “There’s a bug going around. Stop by my cart before you go to bed. I’ll give you something to make you sleep.”

  Sleep. That’s all I get done here.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fluffy, quarter-sized snowflakes drift outside from a murky sky. I sense a deep chill over the land as I sit in my armchair and watch white cotton balls fall from the sky. Darkness is coming. Tiny dancing lights illuminate the trees, and I wonder if angels are sitting above, having a delightful time creating the playful sight for my pleasure.

  A nurse enters my room and chirps, “Are we ready to go?”

  I turn to look at her. “Go where?”

  She smiles, and I know what’s coming next. “You’re going to a party tonight.” She bends close. “Remember? We’ve talked about it several times this week.”

  “We have?” I think she’s mistaken. If someone had told me I was going to a party, I think I would remember.

  The nurse straightens. “You have company tonight. Would you like to freshen up a bit?”

  “What party?” I ask.

  The nurse walks to my bed. “You’ve been a little down lately. Have you taken your afternoon meds?”

  Like I have a choice? Someone sees that I down the horse-like pills.

  “You know, Arlene. The doctor and your family want you to come out of your room and mingle more often.” She sets a tray aside and punches the button so the head of the mattress lifts.

  “I’m not sick?”

  She pauses, her expression soft. “Why are you so unhappy, Arlene? I believe if you would participate more you would make a world of new friends and you wouldn’t be so lonely.”

  I can’t think of anything in particular that upsets me other than life.

  “Well.” She pats my hand gently. “I know your world has changed drastically, and I suppose anyone would feel a bit depressed.”

  Am I depressed? Is that why I sleep so much?

  “Come along, dear. Let’s get you dressed. We don’t want to keep—”

  “Someone is coming to eat with me?” Expectancy swells. I’ve had very few eating guests since coming here. Una and I often share a sandwich at noon, but real company is a treat.

  “What should I wear?”

  The nurse steps to the closet and withdraws a pair of slacks and a green sweater. Frowning, I say, “The pants don’t fit.”

  “They’ll be fine. I love this sweater on you.”

  One look at the dark green garment and I know she’s kidding. “You do? I don’t recall wearing it.”

  “I believe your daughter-in-law gave it to you last Christmas.”

  Which Christmas? The one before, before, before, or before that?

  My eyes pivot to the pants. “Those, too?”

  She nods, smiling. “Very pretty and festive ensemble.”

  My heart sinks. Chances are neither one would fit.

  The sounds of happy chatter coming from the dining room meet me before my wheelchair turns the corridor corner. Surely something special is going on, but the nurse wheels me by the main entrance and pauses in front of a room—the room—the one where families come to eat.

  “Here?” I ask, silently praying she hasn’t stopped to catch her breath.

  “This is all for you tonight.” Opening the double doors, she wheels me through. People rise to their feet, and I enter to a passionate round of applause. My eyes widen at the sight, and I focus on the festive, decorated tree sitting by the roaring fireplace. Centered in the top branch is the star of Bethlehem. The familiar sight brings hot tears to my eyelids.

  “Mom!” Steven sets his glass aside and proceeds to welcome me. My bewildered gaze roams the room, and I am speechless when I focus on Jack Jr., Melissa, Steven, Julee, and little Ella.

  Men are wearing tuxedos, and the women, long elegant gowns. I feel as though I’ve stepped straight back into my old life. Chair upon chair is occupied with people who I don’t recognize. The special eating area is full to the brim!

  “Steven, what is going on?”

  “We’re having family Christmas tonight, Mom.”

  “Christmas? It’s Christmas again?” I swear the holiday rolls around faster than tax day.

  Jack Jr. thanks the nurse and seizes my wheelchair. “Your party awaits, Milady.”

  Milady. The nickname bathes me in incredible sweetness. Someone very special once called me by that affectionate term.

  Each strange face that I roll by brings a smile. Everyone in the room appears to know me, though I don’t recognize one single guest other than my family. Jack Jr., Melissa, Steven, Julee—little Ella, who has my heart.

  Hands reach out to touch me, to give me a tight squeeze. I must have many close friends and associates that I’m not aware of.

  Jack Jr. seats me at the head of the long table, elegantly appointed with sparkling white china. I gaze at the long row of smiles and silently form the words on my lips. Thank You, God. For what, I’m not completely certain, but inside me I know that I, Arlene Santana, am receiving a special gift, one only God can provide.

  Family, friends’ warm smiles, and happy tears.

  I complain a lot to Una about this and that, but right now the only thought that runs through my mind is, How blessed can one woman be?

  “Recognize the star, Mom?” Steven’s voice breaks into my reflections.

  “And the china,” Melissa adds.

  My gaze returns to place settings and then the tree, and I study the top ornament. The decoration seems out of place, and I can’t say why. “Jack.”

  “You’re right! It’s yours and Dad’s! Jack Jr. and I thought you might like to share it this Christmas.”

  Happiness like rich honey dribbles through my veins. “My, my.” That’s all I can think to say. My china. My star of Bethlehem.

  For this special moment, I am Arlene Santana, a woman whose world isn’t turned upside down. Arlene living in a lovely home on the outskirts of Burlington, Vermont, with Jack, and a huge pine sitting in the den, east corner, our Christmas star shining into the dreariest night.

  Hands reach out to touch me, to give me a squeeze. Jack. My eyes automatically search the crowd, but I know I won’t find my husband’s familiar grin. Gwendolyn lifts a hankie and waves. Eleanor snaps a picture, and Frances tries to catch my attention with a wolf whistle. I grin at my tablemates. We’ll certainly have something to talk about tomorrow.

  I am seated at the head of the long table, elegantly set with the finest china, my two sons and Ella close by. I gaze at the long row of smiles and silently thank God.

  Family.

  Friends.

  I may have lost my memory, but the meaning of Christmas is intact and fully present in the room tonight.

  Prime rib and baked potato is served. A large group of carolers wearing warm coats and bright scarves walk the hallways, singing carols of the season. Una and I have spent time trying to find places to hang our handmade ornaments and gifts that kind folks bring. I now have two new crocheted prayer shawls, more cookies than I can eat, and was that a children’s group that brought watercolor-painted Christmas trees that now hang in my room?

  Una!

  I glance at Steven, who is sitting to my right. “Steven, where is Una?”

  His fork pauses in midair, and a sheepish expression overtakes his features. He glances toward Jack Jr., who sits on my left side. “Jack?”

  Melissa looks to Julee. “Oh Mom! Julee and I tried to invite her, but the nurses insist there isn’t anyone here by that name. Is Una a nickname?”

  I shake my head. “Why Una most certainly does live here.” I don’t know where some people get their ideas. Una, my best friend on earth, and they forget to invite her. The very idea that staff can mess up information and cause Una to miss my party. How do I explain the oversight to Una?

  Julee glances at her diamond-encrusted wristwatch. “Do you think it’s too late to invite her to jo
in us? I’ll be happy to get her. And explain the mix-up. What time is it?”

  I purse my lips. Wake Una from a sound sleep and tell her she isn’t invited to my party? I think not.

  Jack Jr. consults his watch. “It’s 8:10.”

  My heart plummets. The middle of the night. Lately, Una’s in bed by seven thirty.

  “I am so sorry, Mom.” Melissa turns pleading eyes in my direction. It’s hard to stay angry on such a near-perfect night. Making a resigned, throw-my-hands-up gesture, I continue with the meal, but the thought nags me. Una is missing all the fun.

  “Really, Mom.” Julee chews on her lip, clearly feeling concerned. “I wouldn’t mind getting her and explaining.”

  “We can’t bother her this late.” By morning, I won’t recall the party, so I guess Una’s absence makes no difference. I just have to hope she isn’t offended.

  Toward the end of dinner, Chef rolls in a pastry cart and announces he will prepare bananas Foster for the guests.

  “See? I remembered,” Jack Jr. teases. “You and Dad never visited New Orleans without visiting Brennan’s. This is your favorite dessert.”

  I don’t recall, but the dessert looks fabulous.

  After I scoop up every last drop of my treat, I push back and smile. “This is a most pleasant way to have fruit for the day.”

  Jolly laughter, a few presents, and then it is over. All beautiful things come to an end; I learned that the hard way.

  Melissa approaches, beaming. “Guess what, Mom? The nurse gave me permission to wake Una for a brief visit.”

  Jack Jr. frowns and checks the time. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Do you think that’s wise?”

  Melissa’s tone softens. “Honey, the nurse said she didn’t think it would hurt this one time.” She glances at me. “It will be much easier to explain the oversight now than later.”

  I can’t contain my bubbly, almost childlike excitement. “I don’t want to upset Una—but if she gets angry, she’ll get over it. I make her mad all the time with some of my silly observations.”