Remembering those at Christmas who’ll always have a place in the heart

By: 
John Mueller, news@newpraguetimes.com

A man walked through the new-fallen snow Christmas Eve 2004. The cemetery was quiet and the moonlight reflected brightly off the thick blanket of snow. There’s something different, perhaps contradictory about visiting the cemetery, the final resting place of loved ones, Christmas Eve.

We brought luminaries, a symbol of lighting the way for Jesus’s birth. Christmas was a big deal, a time for family being together. Mom really liked them and made a point to have them on the steps from the front door to the sidewalk at the house when we were growing up.

It didn’t seem that difficult a tradition to pick up and maintain.

Growing up, her son placed luminaries outside the church in Shakopee on Christmas Eve. He also placed them on the steps of his own house, using it as an opportunity to tell his daughter about her grandma.

The visit is a stark recognition mom and dad are gone. Dad would have turned 100 early this year. Mom would’ve been 98.

Born in the early-1920s, they lived through the Great Depression. Dad survived years in the South Pacific during World War II. Like so many others, he came home, married the love of his life and went to work. He put the past behind him. They raised seven children, sacrificed immeasurably for them, at times were challenged to cover tuition and pay the monthly bills. It wasn’t until years later we came to realize how great a struggle it was, how much they did for us.

They watched their children grow into young adults and set the path for their lives. Two of the girls struggled with health issues, diabetes and cancer. They passed away in December of ’82 and ’86 – both way too young. The oldest of the boys passed suddenly in ’02.

Mom and dad never cried, at least in front of us. They relied on their faith and tried to maintain a steady course, even as their own health challenges took over. The end of their lives was filled with all the strength, dignity and grace they could muster. They passed in June and September of 2003.

A visit to the cemetery on Christmas Eve seemed like the least he could do. It was both an unexpected blend of sad and heartwarming. It bothers him when the grass grows over the markers, a sign family members don’t come to care for their lost loved ones or, more likely, they have moved away our passed on themselves. Vowing he would not forget his parents, the plan was to place luminaries at his mother and father’s gravesites as well as the sites for his sisters.

It was a winter with heavy snow before the holidays. The man remembered to wear boots. He even remembered to bring a plastic shovel to find the markers for his mom, dad and sisters. He hadn’t yet placed Christmas wreaths at the site right after Thanksgiving, a move that would have made finding the markers much easier. After several minutes of trying to find the markers and suddenly, the feeling of inadequacy from being unable to bring his lost loved ones a small token they were not forgotten was too much to bear.

He sat down in the snow, his back to a northwest wind, and tried to gather the calm and grace they bravely displayed at the end of their lives. Regathering his wits, the man finally found the grave markers. He lighted the candles placed deep within transparent plastic cookie jars and watched the flame flicker gently in the wind.

He placed the shovel back in his car and stood on the road watching the dim light of the candles. As he left the cemetery, the man looked back over his shoulder across 300 yards of drifting snow. Because the gravesites were on a hillside, he could faintly see the flickering candlelight as he drove out of the cemetery.

The man drove home knowing he had done at a minimum the least he could do. He celebrated Christmas with his family, lighting luminaries along the driveway. He figured his mom would be pleased.

Merry Christmas, you guys. We miss you.

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