Determination

I had set out to blog about one of my Christmas ornaments.  Many of them have stories behind them.

On my Christmas tree each year I hang some ornaments that were gifts.  One has special meaning.  I remembered blogging this several years ago, and I'd like to update it just a little.

This is a year where many of us are apart from loved ones, and they are in our thoughts.  I've been thinking about one person recently, a woman who passed away in 1998.  Here's the story:

Many years ago, the company I worked for was bought by a new owner, along with a couple of other local businesses.  Two other offices were combined into the office where I worked, and Pat came into my life.

Pat was many things - an experienced worker, a loving mother and grandmother, and a woman who loved crafts - needlepoint, tole, and more.

Her and her husband (also now deceased), a building contractor, restored a house in Maine, New York, and had a loving marriage. 

Every year, at work, we would have a small gift exchange at Christmastime. Pat's contribution was always a Christmas ornament - usually made by her, or one made by another craftsperson.

One December day, Pat called us together.

A couple of months ago, she said, she had found a lump on her neck.  She went to the doctor, who immediately ran tests.  It was cancer.  Not only that, they found cancer all through her body.  Doctors ran more tests, trying to find where the cancer had originated.  It turned out to be lung cancer. She had perhaps 18 months to live.

Pat was only able to work a couple of more months.   We all kept in touch after she went out on permanent disability.  It was a small office, and we were close to each other.  We knew each other, our spouses, our children.  

Pat had to prepare her children and grandchildren.  And us.

Pat always conducted herself with dignity and determination, and the months after the diagnosis were no exception.  By her example, she showed us how to face death with dignity.

Our office, in the following months, fell apart due to poor management.  One by one, we left.  By the next Christmas, several of us were unemployed.  As each co worker quit the job,  they started to spend time with Pat every Tuesday when she felt up to it.  When I left, I joined them in the Tuesday outings.

The Tuesday before Christmas 1997, Pat gave us our final gift - the gift of her presence.  We took her out to a local restaurant, and she gave us a tour of her house - something that took her great effort.

By January of 1998, we suspected the end was near.  She could not walk more than a few steps without losing her breath.

Pat died on February 13, 1998, a day short of Valentine's Day, a week after suffering a stroke and lapsing into a coma.  In my last visit to her, five days before her death, she lay on a bed, under home hospice care.  Her favorite country music was playing.  I held her hand and whispered in her ear.  I don't know if it was my imagination, but I am positive she gently squeezed my hand.

Now, fast forward to 2011.

In September of 2011, my neighborhood was flooded by a tropical storm and we had several feet of water in our basement.  We were so fortunate, compared to many of our neighbors.  The next months were hard for us and many other in our community.

When we cleaned out our basement, I found that several of the homemade ornaments Pat had given me were ruined.  There was no way to salvage them.  But the ornament you see above, a needlework Pat made, had survived in a box above the water level.  Yes, Pat was watching over her ornament.

Every year the ornament goes on our tree, a sign of survival, caring and love.

Time marches on, and things change for us all.  But Pat lives on in my heart, even after all these years.  Every year, I gaze upon the ornament she gave me, the ornament she stitched with her own hands.  It whispers determination.

Determination is what we need now.  The determination to see this pandemic through, not to inadvertently spread it, to protect our health care workers by our behavior.  She would have told us to make the necessary sacrifices, even as we tire of the things we need to do.

It's not time to quit yet.

Pat never quit caring for others.

Pat would have approved this message.