| Life Support USA |
A Soldier's Christmas Eve Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone. I came down the chimney with presents to give, to see just who in this house did live. I looked all about, a strange sight I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand, and on the walls pictures, of far distant lands. With medals and badges, awards of all kinds, a sobering thought came to my mind. For this house so different, so dark and so dreary, was the home of a soldier, I could see clearly. The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone, curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home. The face was so gentle, the room in disorder, not how I pictured a United States Soldier. Was this the hero of whom I just read? Curled up in a poncho, the floor for a bed? I realized the families that I visited this night, all owed their lives to those willing to fight. Soon round the world the children would play, and we would all celebrate a bright Christmas day. We all enjoy FREEDOM each month of the year, because of the soldiers, like the one lying here. I could not help but wonder of the many alone, on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home. The very stark thought brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees and started to cry. The soldier awakened, I heard a rough voice, "Santa don't cry, this life is my choice. I fight for FREEDOM, I don't ask for more. My life is my God, my Country, my Corps." The soldier rolled over and soon drifted to sleep, humbled and grateful I continued to weep. I kept watch for hours, so silent and still, our bodies both shivered from the bitter cold chill. I would not leave on this cold Holy night, this guardian of Honor so willing to fight. Then the soldier rolled over, and his voice soft and pure, whispered "Carry on Santa, Christmas Day, all secure." Take Hold Of Every Moment A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: "This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box. "She got this the first time we went to New York, 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on. Was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it". He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house, his wife had just died. He turned to me and said: "Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion". I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if i feel like it. I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to. The words "Someday..." and "One Day..." are fading away from my dictionary. If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now. I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might have called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would have gone out for Chinese, her favorite food. Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning I say to myself that this could be a special day. If you got this, it's because someone cares for you and because, probably, there's someone you care about. The Cutoff Period Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing? When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage," My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments. My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's wan smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?" Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life? One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried." I smiled a wan smile. The torch has been passed. ***************************** "You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love." -Henry Drummond-
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