I surveyed the work ahead of me. It didn’t seem like I had bought this much over the past year, but here was the evidence. My little sister would be coming into town soon to offer her idea of lending a hand. This was her pet project, yet I always did all the toil: shopping for bargains, storing, packaging and delivering. She would stand by and delegate or criticize. Oh, yeah, did I mention I also had the honor of being the cash donor?
She had me big time! I was sorting items out by the age and sex of the recipients when I heard my sister, Babs, enter. She always lightened a room with her energy and she never suffered jet lag from her flights. I get exhausted crossing county lines! Heck, I get tired crossing the street, yet she has made these twenty annual treks, tirelessly and regularly, from abroad to participate in the gift distribution.
Every Easter, (I prefer to call it Resurrection Day as Easter was actually a pagan holiday honoring the goddess Easter.), Babs and I load up my van and pay a social call to the city’s Children’s Hospital. This was where Babs lived for much of her adolescent and teenage days. She had been diagnosed with leukemia at eleven and made her final departure from the institution at sixteen. A full recovery. Completely healed. That gave Resurrection day special meaning for us as a family, knowing that our savior and redeemer lives, as did Babs!
“Wow, you went wild this year didn’t you?” Babs declared, looking underneath the parcels to see if the whole lot was suspended in mid air or if there actually was a bed supporting every thing.
Last year there were so many good bargains I couldn’t resist.” I answered, picking up some plastic toys and books. Hospitalized kids get bored and need diversions to stimulate their growing minds. Babs had been bored to death during her hospitalizations so we were inspired to make this yearly contribution to the patients at her old alma mater, the hospital, where she spent so much restless time.
Cindy, my daughter, trailed Babs into the room. At least I think it was Cindy, she was hidden behind a tower of shoeboxes and would have bumped into Babs if Babs hadn’t winked at me and stepped to the side lowering herself into my boudoir chair. Cindy and I had spent long evenings together decorating the shoe boxes with “Easter” themes; bible verses, crosses, angels etc. Babs had suggested the boxes instead of baskets because of the Easter bunny connection. The boxes symbolized the old ossuaries Jews placed the skeletons in a year after death. Except of course for Jesus’, they couldn’t quite reach his body, besides it never decayed!
Scruffy, Cindy’s ten pound shadow, hurdled himself into Babs’ lap and attacked her repeatedly with his tongue giving her the beating of her life.
“What a good dog,” Babs pronounced.
“He sure is a good dog!” I seconded.
“Of course he’s a good dog mom,” Cindy affirmed scooping him off the chair and out of Babs lap without so much as an “excuse me” to cuddle him affectionately while he squirmed trying to get back to Babs.
“What’s wrong, old boy?” Cindy asked putting him down and watching him rejoin Babs on the chair. Cindy shrugged. “Odd.”
We spent hours sorting things out and boxing them up. We ooohed and awed over everything. The bibles and novels for teenagers that Cindy helped pick, the bible story books for the youngsters, the Veggie Tale movies and books, the Christian coloring and comic books, Carman CDs. (Carman is a wonderful Christian singing artist with lots of pizzazz, great for teens and adults). We had to be careful in what we gave kids; most of them had lowered resistance to infections due to chemotherapy. No one would find a hint of a bunny or egg in the lot. This holy day was all about Jesus, no time-sharing with a fertility symbol. (Does any one ever wonder where that furry creature gets his eggs from? If I ever see a bunny laying an egg, I'll check myself into rehab! Does he enter hen houses at night with a mask and gun and demand them the poor mother‘s to fill his basket?)
Overall we did pretty good I thought as I scrutinized our endeavor. Thirty boxes filled with homage to Jesus. Mood boosters for those moments that visit the sick after chemotherapy, rehab or treatments, or just when their parents have to go home. Cindy and I loaded the van; did I mention Babs just supervised? I wonder why she ever bothered to make the trip. Being the older sister, I should have been bossier and demanded some assistance, but I was just so glad to be doing this for her. The trunk and back seat were crammed to over flowing.
Before we took off, I went to the ladies room to freshen up. I clipped on some long fun earrings that practically brushed my shoulders, and hid my face under foundation, lipstick and eye shadow, (after all those kids were suffering enough without seeing me “a la natural,”, besides they could get their holidays confused and think it was Halloween instead of Easter!) Then I used the “hairspray“.
Babs looked me over, approvingly, “I see you can still be a rebel.” She stated referring to hair that was tinted with blue hair spray, and flipping my dangly earrings, full of spring colors and themes.
“You like it?” I questioned patting my do and shaking my head causing my ear rings to chime. Cindy giggled, “Mom, you got my spray by accident.”
“Nope, I did it deliberately.”Cindy groaned and slumped in her seat so the neighbors wouldn‘t see her accompanying us. “Great, my mom is revisiting her childhood. My friends already have a hard time seeing you as an authority figure.”
“When did I have any authority?” This bit of news surprised me. I could never get Cindy to follow my agendas. I grinned at Babs. We used to hate our mother acting like a kid, there‘s no generation gap here.
At the hospital, we headed to the cancer unit. This was always a somber moment for me. I remember visiting Babs here regularly. Actually, I came to see mom, she was here more that at home. Babs needed the attention, I could fend for myself. I had no curfews, no rules no one to answer too. For years I sometimes forgot I had a mother. At the time, I resented Babes’ illness. I blamed her of being sick on purpose to get all the attention. When she recovered and went home, I abhorred myself.
We passed her old room, her mailing address off an on for almost six years. There was a girl in there by herself looking very sad and in need of ….something I couldn’t give; assurance that everything would okay.
Cindy paused and looked in feeling awkward. It was more than she could handle. She hated this part of the job. The planning, packaging and delivering were emotionally rewarding. Seeing the recipients of her work was not. The baldheads, the disfigurements, the frail bodies that should be doing gymnastics or sports. The wheel chairs, IV‘s. The tears, the smiles, the hope, the despair, the living, barely living. The kids her age. The kids way younger than her. The kids who wouldn’t get older than she would. She preferred staying behind the scenes. If she could wear blinders coming in here, she would.
Babs stopped and stared sympathetically. “I’m going in to sit with her,” she announced, nodding at the young girl. “I think I can cheer her up.”I nodded.
“Sure, stay and cheer her up, I’ll meet you at the nurses station.”
“Oh, no, I’m coming with you!” Cindy declared and accelerated her pace fixing her eyes only on the destination. Babs went into the room ignoring the hand washing station, the cover gowns and masks. She never felt like these rules applied to her.
We transversed hallways plastered with that infamous furry, long eared egg bandit handing out chocolates (really, does the dental society sponsor him?) No posters of an empty cross or vacant tomb. Religious freedom, bah! More like freedom from religion. Pity, pity, pity.
Cindy and I unloaded our cart of boxes at the nurses station where a group of patients gathered to point and laugh at my hair and earrings while Cindy reddened with embarrassment; I just seemed to be a constant thorn in her flesh with my "immature behaviors".
We were well known here, anticipated figures every twelve months. The staff was as excited as the kids would be with our tokens of love Everything passed inspection; after twenty years we ought to have gotten it right by now! Yet every year something new is added to the list of “don‘t brings.” The parents also had to have time to evaluate the appropriateness of our presents. Parents were asked in advance for permission for us to deliver "religious" items so things wouldn't be snatched from disappointed hands. We had to be politically correct, even on a holy day!
I picked Babs up on the way out.“How will she be?” I asked referring to her old room’s present occupant.
“Fantastic, but not in this world I‘m afraid.” Babs responded. I sighed and prayed for her parents. “Her future is quarantined though; she has the seal on her forehead.” Babs had a good eye for these things.
“Thank God.” Thank God for offering salvation, thank heavens the young girl accepted it.
The night before Easter, Babs and I stayed up all night giggling and talking. We went through the photo albums, sang, prayed and cried. It was an exhausting night, it was an exhilarating night. No time was wasted on sleep. It would be another year before she graced me with her presence so we made the most of our time catching up. Her lifestyle surpassed my imagination and I didn’t want her to leave out a single detail. She was a namedropper. She knew people I only heard about. The life she lived was out of this world and would have made me jealous if I wasn’t so happy for her.
The next morning, Cindy complained about me leaving the television on in my room, keeping her awake with all the noise. Babs and I exchanged glances, what T.V? “Really mom, don’t you know you’re not the only one living here?” Cindy huffed. Why does she always use my arguments against me?
We attended sunrise service at the cemetery. The sun rose over the landscape while we sang, “He has risen!”
At the conclusion of the ceremony, covering the topic of death’s defeat in the person of Jesus, the congregation wondered among the tombstones laying flowers on all the graves. Babs and I dawdled over one resting place in particular. The dates etched on the marble stone spanned sixteen years that ended two decades ago. The day of Babs’ death when all pain and suffering ceased, when she left the hospital to go home. Easter time. Her bodily resurrection will occur at this site when the trumpet sounds on that glorious morn, but till then I get to enjoy her presence in my heart by carrying out our pet project in her name and for Jesus’ glorification.
Cindy came up behind me. “I sure wish I could have met aunt Babs.” “You have your chance every year but you don’t say a word to her,” I admonished.
Cindy gave me “the look” and announced, “That’s it, absolutely no more blue hair spray for you. I’ll bet there’s even a warning on the bottle; toxic to people over thirty.”
Babs looked over Cindy’s, blew me a kiss, and shot into the air to head back home. Cindy gasped, “Look mom. A shooting star!”
Duet 7:3-6
Duet 31:17-18
Isiah 53Luke 24
1 Thes 4:13-18
I Cor 15:50-58
Eph 1:13-14
