Room 614 – Lantern

From A Sea of Lilacs: Sorrow in Verse and Vignette, available now in paperback or kindle versions. A vignette based on the true story of my best friend’s Lantern gift to my mom.

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Momma Heidi called me her honorary daughter.

Her youngest daughter is my nearest and dearest friend, so Momma Heidi took me as an extension of her family. But Momma Heidi was more than my best friend’s mom; She was the Momma of my heart. And she knew it. She reveled in it. She loved me and delighted in me in ways my own mother seemed unable. When I graduated from college, Momma Heidi hugged me tight and cried against my hair, whispering how proud she was of me. When B proposed, I was more excited to tell Momma Heidi than anyone, even my best friend. Momma Heidi squealed with delight and couldn’t wait to hear how he’d proposed. When we shopped for my wedding dress, Momma Heidi’s eyes lit up when I stepped out from the dressing room in ‘the one.’

That I was allowed into her world of snowman collecting was only added joy. No matter how hard times were, I found a way to gift Momma Heidi at least one snowman each Thanksgiving. It mattered to her, and that mattered to me.

B and I had found the perfect gift for her this year. Yes, it was a little more expensive than we’d budgeted for; and yes, we could’ve nickel and dime shopped and Momma Heidi would’ve been just as thrilled; but we couldn’t resist. We splurged only because it was for Momma Heidi. It was the most perfect gift I’ve ever chosen for another person: A hanging lantern with a snowman scene carved out of each panel and a five-inch LED candle inside. I knew Momma Heidi would love it. I wrapped it in blue tissue paper and placed it inside a snowman gift bag with Momma Heidi’s name.

But Momma Heidi got sick. Quickly. Vehemently. Undiagnosably, it seemed (go ahead and get me started on why medical professionals couldn’t figure out what was killing this otherwise healthy, active, vibrant woman). Every time I saw her and every time I spoke with my bestie, Momma Heidi was worse. So our perfect gift sat on our kitchen table, reminding me that the woman I loved more than anything in this life was dying.

When my bestie called, it wasn’t the news I’d been expecting. Momma Heidi had been in the hospital for two days already. Her kidneys had failed. She had been asleep for so long. Asleep. Unresponsive. Sedated. One of those, or more. I expected, with great fear, to hear that she had slipped away.

But she awakened. That was the update this day before Christmas Eve. Momma Heidi had awakened. The care aid had come and helped her wash her face, brush her teeth, brush her hair, find her glasses, and sit upright in bed. We heard she managed to eat a supper of mashed potatoes, a small Salisbury steak, and hospital-grade peas.

Her face lit up when we entered. Sorrow caught in my throat like turkey too dry; I swallowed hard to force it down. But relief slipped out in a single drop of molten saline upon my cheek. I swiped at it, but Momma Heidi saw.

“What’s this, now?” She reached toward me, and somehow, I maneuvered the tight spaces of room 614 – the table, the chairs, the bags, the machines – and landed in her arms just in time to soak the shoulder of her blue hospital gown with my tears. Momma Heidi held onto me, shushing me like a child and stroking my hair. “There, now. Everything’s alright, love. Don’t cry, honey. I’m here.”

“Yes, you are,” I said with the truest smile to ever cross my lips and pulled back as B pressed in. My husband was never so rude.

“We’re so happy to see you,” he choked out as he hugged her.

I nudged him to quit hogging her and excitedly handed her the gift bag. “We’ve been saving this for you!” I said.

“Oh!” She giggled like a little girl beyond the reaches of death’s shadow and said, “Is it Thanksgiving already?”

“It’s almost Christmas,” B answered, and I saw confusion flash in her eyes briefly, then settle with resignation. “We’re sorry we couldn’t be with you for Thanksgiving this year. But we wanted to wait and give you your gift in person.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Momma Heidi answered him. “Can I open it now?”

We urged her to do just that. Momma Heidi oohed and aahed and fussed over every detail of the gift: the glittery snowman bag, the “to Momma Heidi with love” on the tag, the curled white ribbon tied about the strings of the bag, even the plain blue tissue paper. But when she beheld the lantern, her mouth opened wide as she inhaled, and she froze like a snowman.

“I saw you,” Momma Heidi whispered breathlessly. She didn’t seem to realize we were still there. She touched one of the snowman carvings gingerly, and the realization flooded over her face. “I was lost in the dark, in a storm, and…God said He was sending someone to help me find my way, and I saw you, shining your light for me to come back.”

Momma Heidi looked up at me, her eyes wide. “And then I woke up here.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find a single word.

B put his arm around me and reached for Momma Heidi’s hand.

When I finally spoke, all I could manage was, “Merry Christmas, Momma Heidi.”

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I hope you enjoyed this piece from A Sea of Lilacs: Sorrow in Verse and Vignette. It’s one of my favorites and I’ve been wanting to share it with you ever since my Little Lady clicked the “on” button of the Lantern just after Thanksgiving.

From my heart to yours,