by Russ Durbin
Particular attention was given to placing mistletoe above each doorway; it was a wonder we got anything else done as we observed the tradition of kissing under each sprig.
“We must get a red candle to place in the front window.” She explained that the light of the candle shows the way for Mary and Joseph and the Christ Child on Christmas Eve. “They will know they are welcome in our home as are any weary travelers in the night.”
“Uh, Maggie, does that mean we are likely to have unexpected guests during the night?”
“No-o-o, of course not, you silly Yank. It’s just what we say; it’s tradition.”
The candle was easy; decorating the Christmas tree was a bit more involved. You see, I had always liked Christmas and had made a big thing of decorating the tree when my Jonathan and Elizabeth were small. The kids and I would string popcorn and cranberries and add the ornaments carefully preserved from year to year while my wife (now ex) made cookies. Each year, the kids would insist on a tree that was bigger than last year’s.
So when I arrived at Maggie’s door with the tree, she was speechless. Finding her voice, she cried, “Padraig, where on earth did you get such a big tree? And what are we to decorate it with? We haven’t enough ornaments.”
“The sitting room,” was my reply to her first question. “We’ll buy more things to put on the tree.” And we did.
The last thing was the star for the top. Since the tree reached almost to the tall ceiling in the sitting room, I brought in the ladder from the shed in the back garden. With both of us standing on the wooden ladder, we placed the star on top.
“Oh, it looks perfect! Dennis will be so surprised.”
As we folded the ladder, Maggie said, “I have one more thing to do. I must hang Dennis’ stocking on his bed.”
“Don’t you hang it on the mantel?”
“No, it’s an old Irish tradition to hang a stocking on the foot of a child’s bed. Then, Santa slips in during the night and fills it with fruit and candy coins.” She took a faded red knit stocking from a drawer in the kitchen and hung it with loving care on the bed in the back bedroom that now belonged to Dennis. “It’s silly, I suppose, but Dennis still likes the tradition even though he is a man grown.”
I slipped my arms around Maggie, kissed her neck and said, “I love your old Irish traditions, and I especially love you.”
Maggie laughed her crooked smile and, giving me a swat on the behind, said, “Now put the ladder back where you found it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The rest of the day was busy with trips to the meat market for the turkey and ham, and to the bakery shop for the breads and cakes for the holidays. I made one stop on my own for a special present for Maggie.
That night as frost began to paint its intricate designs on the windows, we sat on the couch, watching the turf fire cast dancing shadows around the room. The single red candle glowed in the window. On the radio, RTE was playing traditional Christmas music.
Reaching in the pocket of my cardigan, I drew out a small box, wrapped in green paper with a small red bow on top.
“What’s this?”
“It’s an early present. Open it and see.”
Maggie’s hands shook as she carefully removed the bow and the paper. Opening the blue velvet box, Maggie caught her breath. Sparkling in the glow of the fire and the Christmas lights was a gold circle with evenly matched diamonds around the ring.
“Oh, Padraig! What have you done? It’s so beautiful.” She always had a way of drawing out the first syllable of the word in a way I loved but could never duplicate.
“Since you agreed to marry me, I thought you should have a ring to show for our engagement.” I took the ring and slipped it on her finger; it fit perfectly. “Merry Christmas.”
Maggie’s eyes were glistening as she looked at the ring and then up into my eyes. “Nollaig Shona Duit, gra mo chroi,” she breathed. Putting her hands behind my neck, she drew my face down to hers and our lips met.
“You are too good to me, mo gra.” Maggie whispered as she gazed at the ring on her finger. Once again, those magnificent eyes turned to me.
“There is one more special Christmas gift I would like, Padraig,” she said earnestly.
“Name it and it’s yours.”
“I want all of us – you, me and Dennis – to go to Midnight Mass at St. Mary’s on Christmas Eve.”
“Um-m, is this like the request to go on our pilgrimage to Gouganne Barra that we did one spring so long ago?”
“Yes, but this is different. Then we knew we were going to say good-bye to each other. Or least I did. This is to give thanks to God for bringing us together finally as a family.”
“How do you think Dennis will see it? Will he see me as family or as an intruder? Or will he accept me despite the fact that I have been absent from his life while he was going up?”
Maggie laughed. “It will be your joy to find out. You see, I know my – our – son. And he is…a kind, loving man…like his father.”
Chapter 16
HOMECOMING
All was in readiness for Dennis’ homecoming and our first meeting. The house on Western Road was decorated and the presents were wrapped and piled beneath the tree.
Our initial meeting, however, didn’t turn out the way any of us expected. Maggie and I agreed we would meet the train when it arrived at the station from Dublin. Our plan was for her to introduce us and then for all of us to go to dinner. There, we would start the process of getting to know each other.
Someone once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”
As the train pulled into the station, I began feeling unwell. I said nothing to Maggie, thinking it was only a bit of indigestion. But the uncomfortable feeling, a kind of burning sensation, seemed to spread across my chest and up my left arm to my neck and jaw. I was in pain and it was growing. The train eased into the station and people of all ages from students to businessmen and women began pouring from the train.
As I watched a tall young man with dark red hair stepped off the train, a backpack in his hand. At that moment, I felt the pain become unbearable and I felt myself growing faint. “Oh, no,” I thought irrelevantly, “this is like ‘Dr. Zhivago’ when he finds his lost love only to die before they could be together.”
My scene faded to black with my final thought that I was dying.
I didn’t. Die, that is. Instead, I woke up in a bed in Mercy University Hospital. Not the grim old stone gothic building that I remembered from the 1970s but a shiny new white tile and glass affair.
“Well, you gave us a bit of a fright, laddie.” The man bending over me was a kindly looking grey haired man in a white coat and a fairly thick Scottish accent. “Glad you’re back with us.”
“What happened? Did I have a heart attack?”
“We don’t know, but we don’t think so. Your ECG didn’t show anything unusual. Your blood pressure was elevated. You just rest, laddie, while we do some more tests to find out what caused you to collapse.”
“Doc, I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“We haven’t ruled anything out yet. We just need to complete our workup on you.” The doctor beckoned to the doorway. “In the meantime, here is someone who is very worried and wants to see you.”
Maggie burst into the room, followed by the young man I assumed was Dennis.
“Oh,Padraig, mo gra. I have been so worried. How are you at all at all?” I couldn’t answer for her kisses as she clutched my hand.
“I feel okay now,” I replied. “At the train station, I thought I was having a heart attack. But I’m not sure the doctor agrees.”
Switching my gaze to the confused looking young man standing quietly behind her, I said, “I suppose you are Dennis. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir. I had just stepped off the train and saw my mother when you collapsed beside her.”
“Bit of a mess I made, I’m afraid. Not a good way to meet you and not a very nice homecomin
g with your mother.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right, Sir.” Hum-m, very polite. I liked that about him.
Turning to his mother, Dennis asked, “Mom, would you please explain how you know this man?”
Maggie looked up at her son, smiled and said, “He is mo charra, my friend from long ago. Twenty years ago, in fact, we became very good friends. He just returned to Cork yesterday.”
She appeared ready to proceed with an explanation of who I really was when we were interrupted by an orderly who said, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go to the waiting room. I need to take Mr. O’Connor for more tests.” He wheeled me out, but not before I saw comprehension dawn on Dennis’ face.
After seemingly endless tests, I waited impatiently for the results, and thought about the drama probably being played out in the waiting room between Dennis and his mother.
Finally, Dr. “Scotsman” appeared. “Well, laddie, we have figured out your problem. The good news is that you didn’t have a heart attack. You had an unusually severe attack of gastroesophageal reflux disease.”
“What’s that?”
Bringing out his visual aids, he explained, “You have what is called the lower esophageal sphincter at the bottom of your esophagus. This is a little flap that closes at the proper time so the acid in the stomach can’t go back up into the esophagus. When the flap doesn’t work right, acid backs up and causes severe burning of the esophagus and creates an ulcer in the esophagus. In a severe case, it can cause the symptoms that mimic a heart attack. In your case, you have a hiatal hernia that prevents the sphincter from closing properly.”
“So, Doc, what can I do about it?”
“Well, you can have surgery, but we suggest that only as a last resort. Best bet is to use medicines that we now have to control the acid and heal the ulcer. I’ll give you a prescription you can get filled at a chemist shop. Then you can go home with your wife and son.”
I didn’t bother to correct him. Anyway, he was right about the son.
As I walked into the waiting room, Maggie jumped up and ran to me. Dennis followed slowly.
“Oh, Padraig, I was so worried. Did they find out what was wrong?
“Yes, and it is nothing to get alarmed about. I feel fine now; I have a prescription to get filled at a chemist shop and that will take care of the problem. Just relax. I’m okay.”
Dennis approached. “I’m glad you’re feeling well again, Sir.” He paused, “You’re my father, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Son, I am.”
“But how could you….?”
I held up my hand and said, “Dennis, I would rather go somewhere besides the hospital waiting room to have this conversation. Why don’t we go ahead with our plans to go out to eat? Then, your mother and I will be happy to answer all your questions. We will tell you the truth. No evasions. Is that agreeable?”
“Yes, Sir.”
We asked for a quiet corner of the dining room at the Silver Springs Hotel. Over dinner, Maggie and I told him everything from the beginning and why we parted. I explained that I didn’t know he existed until two days ago. He absorbed all we told him calmly and with only a few questions. He was surprised and pleased to learn that he had a brother and sister in the states, and said he would look forward to meeting them.
“I always wondered about my name. My mother told me honestly that it was my real father’s name but refused to talk about you except to say that she loved you with all her heart and that she always would. I had to be satisfied with that while I was growing up.” He added, “But I have always been curious about you.”
Dennis glanced at his mother a bit guiltily, and continued, “I had made up my mind that, as soon as I could, I would search for my father and arrange to meet him…er, ah, you. Of course, I thought you were one of the O’Connors in Ireland.”
Looking at him, I felt proud of the handsome young man sitting across from me. Maggie had done a wonderful job raising him to be the man he was beginning to be.
“I’m glad you’re my son, Dennis. I barely know you but already I feel proud of you.”
I paused for a moment or two, and then said, “Dennis, before you came home, I asked your mother to marry me and she said yes. But I feel I must ask for your blessing. You see, I want us to be a real family. I want to get to know you and you to know me.”
Dennis looked surprised. He swallowed hard and his eyes, green of course, glistened with tears. “Yes, Sir, I want that too. I want whatever will make my mother happy. And I want us to be a family,” he said, then paused and added, “Dad.”
Had the waiter come to our table at that moment, he would have seen three smiling adults with tears in their eyes. That was one Irish Christmas we all would remember.
Like I told my agent, I like happy endings to my stories.
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