OCR Text |
Show 378 rated beyond what would be typical for a hospital at this season. There are streamers and fir boughs here and there. There is a small tree, trimmed with ribbons and small shiny globes and lights. There is music on a tape deck, playing Christmas carols. The overhead lights are turned off and as my family enters the room moments later, then faces glow with the lights from the tree. They place then gifts for each other around the tree and I know that my son is wondering if he has a gift this year. The nurses have kept the birds hidden in a comer and we are all hoping the covering will keep them quiet. Carol, another nurse, is coming and going, keeping our space private, denying inquiries ofthe curious, standing guard outside the door. She is a head nurse and it is because she has broken many mles for this special night that we are able to celebrate the birth of Jesus as if we were at home. We have lit our Christmas candle. We are singing carols. We are telling the Christmas story. We are giving our individual, personal gifts to Jesus, a hushed fradition, quiet with self-inquiry. We ponder our lives and determine to make positive changes. And now we are giving our gifts to each other. I am last to give my gift. Julia is going into the comer to retrieve it. My son is looking at the large, quilt-wrapped cube, confused. He is wondering if his drugged mother was capable of finding anything appropriate, I am sure. |