Hear the Angels' Voices

Author Unknown

Snow, the kind that is soundless and brings stillness to the crisp air, rarely falls in Southern Nevada. Even though decorations and lights adorn my neighborhood, this year the spirit of Christmas seems to be more than a breath away. The passing of a loved one can do that to a person. Especially when the one departed, my mom, brought the spirit of Christmas alive early every season.

Boxes of decorations stay hidden in the hall closet, way back under the stairs and out of plain sight for when the door is open. Christmas carols play on the car radio and television commercials offer enticing buys, and still the ambiance of the season escapes me.

In late November, I bought a box of Christmas cards, which still sits on my desk next to a book of holiday stamps and return address labels. I glance at them every so often without one ounce of enthusiasm. I know my mom would want the spirit of Christmas to fill our home, for us to sing carols and give praise to our Lord for all He has given us. Knowing this, still the power to embrace the season eludes me.

Yesterday, I heard her angelic voice whisper in my ear, "I am always with you. Rejoice, for you are all blessed." Then her voice faded away before I could capture it in my grieving heart.

Today I wonder if I'm simply wishful, hopeful that she is near and watching over us. If I doubt her presence, then the strength of my faith is questionable. The memory of her beautiful voice singing in the church choir on Christmas Eve resonates. "Ave Maria," her solo, hums through the recesses of my mind and restores my beliefs.

My grandson, Zack, enters the room and stands next to my desk. I look up with questioning eyes. His vibrant green eyes hold my gaze. I sense he's unsure and full of concern.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"I want to ask you about a dream I had last night. It wasn't bad or anything... I just don't understand."

"Why don't you tell me about it maybe I can help you figure it out."

"I was asleep and the phone rang. When I got up and answered it, the woman asked for you. I recognized her voice, but I was afraid to say anything. She asked, 'Zack?' I said, 'Grammie!' I told her she couldn't be calling because she was in heaven. She said she was so happy there and she had a dog. She could see all of us and a miracle was gonna happen to our family. She promised that we'd always be together and for me not to worry so much. Then I woke up."

My heart flutters. The room goes still.

"So what do you think? Was it really Grammie?" I ask, hoping to encourage him to talk more about his experience.

"Yes, it was."

"She gave you a gift then. You were chosen to tell us her message, maybe so we'll stop crying in her absence. She wants us to be happy, happy as she is in heaven."

"Then I'm glad I had the dream. Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"She's really, really, happy."

"I'm so glad you told me about this."

Zack's eyes mist over and he offers a half grin. He leaves the room and heads back into his bedroom. I glance at the box of Christmas cards: the embossed Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus in her arms, angels in the background looking down on them. The television is on and yet the sound trails off. Above me, from a distant place, I hear a choir of angels humming "Ave Maria." One voice sings louder. Her voice is clear, her words distinct, and offers a tone so familiar and missed. The true meaning of Christmas resurrects in my heart.

I address my Christmas cards and hold my mom's love of this special time of year in my heart. I embrace her memory and all the love she showered upon each and every one of us over the years. I have received the most precious Christmas gift. I am truly blessed and grateful. Come Christmas morning, surrounded by family, I will look upon the tree strung with tiny white lights and know my mom is right beside me.