DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Your first Christmas in heaven -- oh, I can only imagine

I woke up early this morning, Mom, with the dog still nestled warmly in his bed, and the only light outside was from a streetlight and the Christmas lights left on all night. And I realized, this is your first Christmas in Heaven.
Last year, your grandson and I picked you up from Sunrise Assisted Living -- I, in the car, and Josh literally bundling you in his arms like a child and carrying you into the house.
Dad was already there waiting for you. We put you on the couch and played Christmas carols on the stereo.
We left you there when we sat down to dinner, but you would have none of that. You let your legs slide to the side of the couch, and one dropped to the floor. Your message was clear.
With you leaning heavily upon my arm, we walked to the table, laden with cranberry muffins, stuffing, mashed potatoes and more. You supported your head upon your hand with your elbow resting on the table beneath it. You didn't eat, but you spent Christmas dinner with us.
And now, you're gone. I felt loss and melancholy in thinking that, but it was fleeting. After all, Mom, I thought again, "This is your first Christmas in heaven!" In HEAVEN, my God, what CAN that mean?!
Family and friends
Your day will be spent with YOUR mother and father. Your brother Joe, your only brother, will be there, and I wonder if he will be a young man, standing 6-foot-3, walking up to you briskly, lifting you off your feet like his son Joey used to do for a hug. Or perhaps he will be older, already looking like he did when he made his first million dollars, the owner of Detroit-Pittsburgh trucking, still tall, still smiling, but his hair a little thinned on top.
Emily will come along, too -- not a sign of the cancer that took her life showing. I see her slipping her hand into yours, little baby sister. It has been a long time since she spent Christmas with you!
And your sister Dorothy will be there, too. And her husband, Wade. They will both embrace you. I imagine they'll be tanned, still looking like the Californians they had become.
And who else will be there, Mom? What friends that I didn't know? What lost loves will drop by to steal a kiss beneath the mistletoe from someone they hadn't seen in years, and thought perhaps, they would never see again.
I suppose Duchess, your pet duck, and Molly, our sweet dog, will follow you about all day long.
Will God drop by, I wonder?
Angelic celebration
I imagine you spending at least the morning as a child, waking up too early, running down to a Christmas tree near-lifted from the ground by the presents beneath it. Gorgeous dolls in lacy dresses and a fanciful musical carousel and a train set that puffs steam and -- oh, what toys I would place beneath your first Christmas tree in heaven! It would make up for every cross word I had for you, for every regretted remark, for every missed visit, for every moment I wished you were still here!
And the dinner! The Christmas dinner in heaven! I imagine God allowing it, though, of course, it makes no sense anymore. There will be green table clothes and golden candlesticks and vast china bowls and gravy tureens and platters. The food will topple out, it will be piled so high.
And the smell, dear one, the smell! Pies and breads and stuffing and the turkey. Spiced oranges hanging from the tree. Pine. Cinnamon and nutmeg.
But, I imagine the finest thing of all will be the church service on this morning. We think of angelic voices, but you, sweet Betty, YOU will hear angelic voices! The sweetest light in Creation will fall upon you and your family, casting deep reds, blues, greens and gold from giant stained-glass windows.
How, I wonder, could I have felt sad? This is your first Christmas in heaven. I will be thinking of you and smiling.
murphy@vindy.com