The Christmas Miracle
As Nealie McManus finished drying the last of the good dishes she reserved for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, much of her holiday cheer evaporated. She looked at the clock on the kitchen wall and signaled to her brother who was sitting in front of the television, watching an old black-and-white movie with her husband.
"It's time to go," she announced in a voice heavy with sadness.
"I'll go warm up the car," her brother, Colin Mulcahy, replied as he put on his jacket, his holiday cheer suddenly gone.
It was not their first trip to the nursing home, not even their first Christmas day visit. Their mother had been sent there four years earlier, so the post-holiday dinner pilgrimage to the Essex Green extended care facility had become an annual event. The frequency of the trips, however, didn't make them any easier to bear.
Nealie and Colin rode in silence, each of them remembering treasured moments of Christmases past, those fun-filled family holidays before their mother's accident. Glenna Mulcahy was only forty-eight years old when she was severely injured in an automobile crash. Although the doctors had been able to save her life, there was nothing they could do to reverse the brain damage she sustained when she went through the windshield.
The first Sunday afternoon of each month for four years, her children had visited her in the nursing home. And during those years, they prayed for a spoken word or a sign of recognition—any indication at all that their mother was still with them and that her brain still functioned.
When Colin pulled his Toyota Camry into the nursing home's visitor parking lot, he and his sister were dismayed to see their father's BMW parked there.
"What's he doing here?" Nealie asked, her anger surfacing despite the holiday.
"I have no idea," Colin replied, "but I hope he had the good taste not to bring that woman with him to visit our mother."
That woman was their father's new companion, a divorced high school history teacher he began seeing more than three years after his wife's accident. It was a relationship neither Nealie nor Colin approved of, one that created a permanent rift between the father and his children.
That rift grew deeper when Liam Mulcahy had his wife removed from life support. The fact that Glenna did not die once the machines were turned off was proof to her children that God's will was at work. It was only a matter of time, they believed, before their mother recovered. Despite the doctors' grim prognosis, they held firm to that belief. After all, didn't their religion teach them that miracles happened with some regularity?
"Merry Christmas," Liam somberly greeted his son and daughter outside his wife's room.
"Merry Christmas," they replied mechanically.
There were no affectionate kisses or warm embraces. Nealie and Colin simply walked past their father and into their mother's room.
The familiar pang of disappointment stabbed at Nealie's heart. There was always that glimmer of hope that she would find her mother sitting up in bed waiting for them, anxious to catch up on the events of the preceding four years. That hope had been shattered repeatedly.
"Merry Christmas, Mom," Colin called cheerfully as he sat beside the bed and grasped his mother's unresponsive hand. "Judy and the kids send you their love."
"So do Paul and our girls," Nealie added.
Colin leaned over and whispered in his sister's ear, even though his mother would not hear him if he spoke in a normal volume.
"Is it my imagination or did her eyelids just flutter?"
"I think you're right," his sister agreed, her heartbeat quickening with renewed hope.
They watched their mother's face intently for several minutes, but there was no further movement.
"We have your present at the house," Nealie told her mother.
Every year she and Colin bought a present for their mother and placed it beneath the tree, praying that a miracle would return Glenna to them in time for Christmas dinner with her children and grandchildren. This year they bought her a blue cashmere sweater. Regrettably, it appeared as though it would join the previous three years worth of gifts in the top of Nealie's bedroom closet.
The visit continued with Nealie and Colin filling their mother in on what had happened during the month. When they finished describing the Christmas dinner their families had just enjoyed, they supposed it was time to leave.
With a heavy sigh, Colin kissed his mother's cheek and let go of her hand.
"We'll be back next month to see you," he promised her.
Nealie adjusted the blankets on her mother's frail, limp form and brushed the graying hair out of her eyes.
"I remember how much Mom always loved Christmas," she said, her throat constricted with unshed tears.
Despite his own pain, Colin put his arm around his sister and comforted her.
"Come on, Nealie. Let's get back to our families. Our kids are probably wondering what happened to us."
As they crossed the parking lot toward Colin's Camry, Liam Mulcahy emerged from his BMW.
"So you're still here?" Nealie asked.
"I wanted to talk to the both of you," Liam replied nervously.
His son and daughter stared at him, but said nothing. They were not going to make things easy for him.
"I asked Imogene to marry me last night."
Nealie's jaw literally dropped open.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Colin fired back acerbically, "but I don't believe polygamy is legal in Massachusetts."
"You're a Catholic," Nealie reminded her father. "The church doesn't approve of divorce."
"I don't plan on divorcing your mother."
"Oh," Colin said. "So Imogene doesn't mind a long engagement? What's she going to do, sit and wait until Mom ...?"
He couldn't continue. His mother's death was a subject he and his sister had persistently avoided discussing.
"No, I don't expect her to wait. It wouldn't be fair to her."
"How considerate of you to worry about your girlfriend like that," Nealie snapped.
"I didn't come here to discuss my relationship with Imogene or to get into an argument with the two of you. I came here today to inform you that I'm going to petition the court to remove your mother's feeding tube."
Colin cried out in protest, "If you remove the tube, she'll ...."
"But you can't do that!" Nealie angrily argued.
"Yes, I can, and I'm going to."
"We'll fight you," Colin threatened. "We'll hire the best lawyers we can find, and we'll have the church on our side. We'll stop you no matter what it takes."
* * *
The question of whether or not Liam Mulcahy should be allowed to end his wife's life divided the town of Puritan Falls and rapidly spread beyond its boundaries to every corner of Massachusetts. Religious leaders across the commonwealth preached against what they saw as an act of murder. Most people believed Liam was a faithless husband who wanted his wife out of the way so he could marry his girlfriend, but more liberal, more compassionate people sympathized with him. For all intents and purposes, Glenna had been dead for four years, yet the laws of man and his religion bound him to a wife kept alive by tubes, a woman whose brain no longer functioned.
Perhaps Liam's greatest mistake was in not sharing his feelings with his children. He had always tried to be strong for them. After Glenna's accident, he never cried in their presence or told them how desperately he missed his wife or how lonely he was without her.
He had hoped that by taking Glenna off life support he would ease his children's pain as well as his own. With their mother gone, they could grieve and then get on with their lives. They would not have to prolong their emotional roller coaster of false hope and heartbreaking disappointment.
The doctors had assured Liam that without life support it would only be a matter of time before nature took its course, yet when the machines were turned off, Glenna's heart kept beating and her lungs began breathing on their own. Apparently, her body was strong and refused to die.
Meanwhile, Liam had met Imogene, and what began as a platonic friendship blossomed into love. Here was a chance for happiness, and Liam was not about to pass it up, despite his children's objections. If they wanted a legal fight, by damn he would give them one!
* * *
The following Christmas Colin Mulcahy and his family once again celebrated at his sister's home. The festively decorated tree was in front of the bay window, and the presents were piled high beneath it. Among the gaily wrapped toys was a small jeweler's box that contained a heart-shaped locket: that year's gift for Glenna.
It had been an emotionally trying and physically exhausting twelve months for the brother and sister and their families, a year filled with meetings with lawyers and church officials, media interviews and public speaking engagements. True to their word, Nealie and Colin were not about to give up without a fight.
Once the dishes were washed, dried and stored in the china closet, Nealie put on her coat and walked out to her brother's Toyota.
It was Christmas, and neither of them wanted to discuss the pending court case.
"Remember the time the power went out on Christmas day and Mom couldn't cook the turkey in the electric oven?" Colin reminisced.
Nealie laughed at the memory.
"We had to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches by candlelight for Christmas dinner, but we still had a great time that year. Mom let us have extra helpings of dessert, and then Dad took us sleigh riding on Naumkeag Hill."
An uncomfortable silence followed. It was the first happy memory of their father either of them had shared for some time. In their anger at his wanting to move on with his life, they had both forgotten about the good times they all shared before their mother's accident.
"I'd like to take my kids sledding this winter," Colin announced, hoping to change the subject since he was not yet ready to forgive his father. "Why don't you and Paul and the girls come with us?"
"Sounds like fun. I haven't been sleigh riding or ice skating in years."
When they arrived at the nursing home and entered their mother's room, the brother and sister couldn't help wondering if it would be their mother's last holiday.
"Merry Christmas, Mom," they said in unison, trying to dispel the gloom.
As usual, Colin sat at his mother's bedside and took her hand in his.
"We missed you at Christmas dinner," Nealie claimed, forcing herself to project a cheerful disposition. "When you come home, I promise I'll cook a turkey with all the fixings, even if it's in the middle of July."
Colin turned toward the window. He could no longer bear the sight of his mother's expressionless face.
Please wake up, he silently prayed.
A harried, overworked nurse then walked into the room.
"I'm terribly sorry," she said, "but we're short-staffed today because of the holiday. As a result, we're running behind schedule. I'm going to have to ask you to step outside for a few minutes while I bathe your mother and change her sheets."
"Sure, we understand. Let's go get a cup of coffee," Colin suggested to his sister.
. "First, I'd like to stop at the chapel," Nealie said. "I think I'm going to need strength to get through the day."
The nursing home's chapel was a small room on the first floor, not much larger than one of the patients' rooms. A simple altar adorned by a row of votive candles and a plain, brass cross lined the far wall. Facing the altar were three polished wooden pews. When they entered the room, Nealie and Colin saw a young woman sitting alone in the front pew—at least they thought it was a young woman. It was hard to see her face beneath the black lace mourning veil she wore over her head.
Nealie and Colin sat in the rear pew, as far from the woman as possible, not wanting to intrude on her privacy. After several moments the veiled stranger rose from her seat and started toward the exit. Nealie and Colin were surprised when she sat down in the pew next to them.
"I'm sorry to bother you," the woman said.
"It's no bother," Nealie assured her.
"I know you. You're Nealie McManus and Colin Mulcahy. Your mother is a patient here."
It was a common occurrence lately for people to recognize the brother and sister after all the media coverage surrounding their court case.
"You must be going through a difficult time right now," the young woman observed, "especially with the holidays and all."
"It has been a rough year for the two of us and our families," Nealie concurred, responding to the woman's compassionate nature.
"A rough five years," Colin declared, correcting his sister.
The woman nodded her head with complete understanding.
"My heart goes out to you, your families and your father."
The brother and sister bristled at mention of their male parent. Neither saw any reason why the young woman would waste her pity on him.
"Of course, the one who suffers most is your poor mother," the woman commented.
"The doctors assured us our mother is perfectly comfortable. She feels no pain at all," Nealie cried defensively.
"You and the doctors view your mother as having a healthy body with a dead brain."
"We don't believe her brain is dead," Nealie argued. "It's only damaged, but we have faith that she will recover someday."
"We're waiting for a miracle," her brother clarified.
"You are both believers then?"
The brother and sister nodded.
"Tell me, in your concern over your mother's physical and mental condition, have you ever given thought to her spiritual health? What if it's your mother's body that is beyond repair and her mind and soul untouched by the accident?"
"I don't understand what you're saying," Nealie confessed.
"Maybe the soul—the memories, hopes, dreams, thoughts and emotions unique to each person—can't be measured or even detected by modern medical equipment. What if your mother is still very much alive inside her unresponsive body? What if she still thinks and feels but because of a damaged brain is unable to make her body respond to the simplest commands?"
Nealie's face grew pale, and her brother became angry.
"Why are you doing this to us?" he demanded to know. "Are you one of those godless liberals who believe in euthanasia?"
"I don't want to cause you any further pain. You've had more than enough these past five years. I would like nothing more than to see you, your father and your mother at peace."
"Don't waste your concern on our father," Nealie cried. "He's nothing but a selfish bastard. Thankfully, our mother is beyond knowing and caring at the moment."
"You're wrong on both counts," the stranger insisted. "Your father has suffered more than the two of you have for the past five years. He lost his wife and his children's love and respect, and now he has the added burden of guilt for just wanting to have a little love and happiness in what's left of his life."
Nealie and Colin didn't want to hear the stranger defend their father. They wanted to leave the chapel, but something in the woman's voice compelled them to stay.
"And as for your mother, she cares very deeply—about the both of you as well as your father. Now it's time to show your mother how much you actually love her."
Nealie couldn't take any more.
She rose from the pew, burst into tears and screamed, "How dare you! Who are you to say such hurtful things to us at a time like this?"
The young woman stood up, raised her hand and removed her veil.
"I'm your mother, that's who."
Although she appeared no older than twenty-five, there was no denying the stranger was indeed Glenna Mulcahy. Nealie fell back into her brother's arms, weeping with joy.
"I knew if we had faith and were patient we would get you back!"
"I'm not physically here," Glenna said and demonstrated her lack of corporal form by passing her hand directly through her daughter's.
"Why are you appearing before us now?" her son inquired. "Does this mean that you've ...?"
Again, he could not bring himself to speak of death.
"I came here to plead my case. There are lawyers arguing your father's right to have my feeding tube removed, and there are other lawyers to argue your right to force him to keep my body alive—not to mention the representatives of the church who want to express their religious views. No one speaks for me, however, so I must do it myself."
"What is it you want?" Nealie asked, finding it difficult to call so young a woman Mom.
"I want you to stop the legal battle. I want the both of you to reconcile with your father and try to get along with the woman who is to become his new wife. I want ...."
"But what do you want us to do about you?" Colin interrupted.
"I want to be released from the useless body that has held my soul prisoner for the past five years. I raised the two of you to be good Catholics. You both believe in heaven and hell—or at least that the soul goes on to another level of existence after death. I want you to allow my soul to be free to move on."
"You want to die?" Nealie asked in shocked disbelief.
"I'm not alive! Don't you understand that? I'm in limbo, and I'm tired of it. I want my husband and my children to go on with their lives and to let me go on to my death."
Nealie and Colin wanted to change her mind, to continue to debate the issue.
"Why have you both fought so hard to keep me in my body?" Glenna asked.
"Because we love you," Nealie spoke for her brother and herself. "We don't want to lose you."
Before Nealie and Colin's startled eyes, Glenna Mulcahy's image began to age rapidly. In a matter of moments she became the graying, middle-aged mother they remembered just prior to the accident.
"You don't want to lose your mother," she repeated with sadness. "Now who's being selfish?"
A moment later, Glenna was gone, and Nealie and Colin were alone in the chapel.
When the brother and sister returned to their mother's room, they saw their father waiting outside the door. His eyes were red and his cheeks tearstained. Strange that they had never seen him cry before.
"I'm sorry," he stammered and turned his face away, not wanting them to see his weakness. "I came to visit your mother, but I can come back later."
"No," Nealie said, deciding it was finally time to extend the olive branch. "Let's all go in and see her together."
"Yes, Dad," Colin agreed. "After all, this will be Mom's last Christmas. She'd want us all to be with her."
Nealie and Colin had decided to honor Glenna's wishes and withdraw their objection to their father's petition. Although they loved their mother deeply—or maybe because they did—they would let her body die and her soul be freed. But for one last time, the four Mulcahys would spend Christmas together as a family.
As Liam walked into his wife's room with his son and daughter at his side, he let his tears fall freely, without shame or embarrassment.
When Nealie saw her mother lying in the nursing home bed, she stopped short and put her hand to her mouth. Her brother was equally flabbergasted by what he saw. Glenna Mulcahy was wearing the blue cashmere sweater they'd gotten her the previous Christmas, and around her neck was the heart-shaped pendant.
"But that sweater was in a wrapped box on top of my closet," Nealie exclaimed. "And the locket was under the tree."
"Don't try to figure it out," her brother wisely advised. "Just accept it for what it is: the miracle we've been praying for."
I distinctly remember asking for a blue angora sweater for Christmas. I wonder who got me this one?
