By Rosalyn Procca

It has been three years since Agatha was diagnosed with cancer, and two years since her death. Both my parents took the loss of their young daughter hard. It's hard on the whole family when a member dies. Especially at Christmas.

Today I stand, as I have for the past two years on every Christmas eve, staring at my sister's grave. The cold stone engraved with Agatha's name looks harsh and lonely against the white snow that is piled up against it in dirty heaps. The gravel crunches under my feet, as I turn and move away from my sister's grave. I know deep down inside that God has a plan for everything, but I can't help but to wonder why I hadn't been the one to go, I would have gladly died in my sister's place. I wonder at night, when I can't get to sleep, if my parents wish I was the one gone instead of Agatha, but I never get the courage to ask.

After two years one would think that my family would be able to celebrate Christmas again, but we haven't. I want to, but when ever I bring up Christmas Mom's face looks so hurt that I can't bear to mention it anymore. After holidays, my friends talk about what they did during Christmas. I can always tell what they were talking about, because they would all go quiet when I come within hearing range. They know my family doesn't do Christmas anymore.

Tears burn in my eyes as these memories flow through my mind. I wonder, as I walk home, if I cry softly to myself. Passing by the church I decide to go in. I walk quietly down the isle, genuflect, and take a seat near the nativity scene. The church is quiet and cheerfully decorated with wreaths,
pine trees, and candles. It's so peaceful, so quiet, that I feel for the first time in two years that I can actually pray. Looking up at the tabernacle, I pour my heart out to God. I tell Him how I feel, ask Him why He took her instead of me, and why on Christmas eve... everything, I tell God everything. I vent about not being able to live a normal life, having to wake up in the morning looking at Agatha's empty bed, and not being able to enjoy Christmas.

“Why?” I ask God in a whisper.

Suddenly, a peace comes over me. I hear a small voice inside my heart. The voice is soft, full of compassion, and love, but firm too. I close my eyes and listen to what the voice is saying.

“It's because I love you.” The voice says.

Looking at the tabernacle I remember all that God did for me. My small crosses are nothing compared to Our Lord's cross that he carried because of my sins! Why did I not see before? It suddenly became clear why Our Lord let this happen to me and my family. God gave me this suffering that I bear in my heart so that I might help him carry the cross, that I might be allowed to prove my trust in God and offer it up for my salvation. God allowed this to happen to help me! All this time I have wasted graces by grumbling about suffering instead of accepting it and offering it up.

I know Agatha is in heaven. She had died when she was only a year and a half old. I understand a little now why God took her before she had lived a little. If He had taken her when she was older, perhaps she wouldn't be in Heaven. Heaven, Agatha is in eternal happiness. It dawned on me so suddenly that I wondered why I had been so sad for Agatha all this time. Why had I been angry and sad that she had never lived to know what it was like to walk, talk, and play? She is there in the presence of God, she is perfectly happy.

I know I will never be able to forget Agatha, especially her smile, but when I left the Church that day I felt at peace again.

The next day, at morning mass I thanked God for the precious time I had with Agatha, and for the grace that I might be able to celebrate His birthday as He would want me to. I also asked Agatha that she might pray for Mom and Dad that they might be enlightened as I had to the truth of suffering I prayed for all those who had suffered the loss of a loved one as I had, that they might also be filled with peace and understanding.

Years down the road, I know I will look back on this Christmas as the time I found out the true meaning of Christmas. I spent that day without, presents, a tree, and a fancy dinner, but I spent it with God and I spent it well.

Note from the author: I dedicate this piece of fiction to those who, like my mother, have suffered the loss of a loved one during the Christmas season.