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It’s getting close to Christmas.

It seems like only yesterday that I was part of the manic trail of shopping dust for Christmas presents. Driving down Orchard Road to review (no, no not in any official capacity, just one of the cars falling, happily, behind a road hog causing slow moving traffic ) the light-up with my family. Going to someone’s house to hear the kids’ carolling. Enjoying pre-Christmas celebrations. Dusting off my choir robes. Having traditional Christmas family dinner cooked by eldest sis.

The only thing I didn’t do was to put up the Christmas tree. I love Christmas trees, not that it has any religious significance, (Jesus was after all born in a manger and not found below a Christmas tree, gift to mankind notwithstanding). But allergic rhinitis always causes sneezing fits and most times, I will be lying flat on the floor with the kids running a ring around me instead of the tree.

But I love Christmas trees. It just adds to the festivities and lights up any celebration. Even if a quiet night at home, the blinking fairy lights add a sense of magic, warmth and nostalgia. It brings me back to the white Christmas tree and home of my childhood and the bustle to prepare to welcome the carollers, where Green Spot and sandwiches would be the apt finale. (The only time my sisters and I get to drink anything other than warm water ). It also brings back beautiful memories of people whom I love who have left this earth but not my heart. My grandparents, my maternal aunty, my black and white nanny, my adopted grandma and grandpa, my grandaunts (grandpa’s sister and sister-in-law)….

It just seems to cancel out terrible days. Rotten people. Difficult experiences. Bad friendships.

The memories seem stuck at when I was five years old. Being two years apart, my sisters would have been seven and nine respectively. We would have been on good behaviour to make sure we didn’t miss the high point of our very simple lives. Putting up the Christmas tree. A plastic white with green, blue, red ornaments, tinsel and blinking white (as in light yellow) fairy lights. Of course, we were more of a hindrance than a help. Rushing to put up the ornaments, before my mum could finish twining the lights around the tree, but it was a special time.

The trees these days do not necessarily have a star topping the apex but ours always had. I loved that moment best. The piece de resistance. When my mum took a high stool to fix the star to the top of the tree. Sigh….

Words fail me now but I just loved the moment….

Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

I do wish that… even now. But as I got older, another star that led the shepherds and Magi to the manger, has me making another wish as well.

Not world peace but for peace in our hearts.

Star light… star bright… May you have your wish tonight.

Have you woken up suddenly and realised your dad or parents or guardian (an important person in your life) has suddenly aged?

I mean I know my dad is getting on in years but today, it hit me again.  By and large, he has been, thank God, in very good health.  He’s gone through major scares like ruptured ulcers, ruptured capillaries, lung issues but has been spared from all.  His stomach lining was so lacerated that the doctors said it was like broken cloth.  He could not be operated on as it was touch and go.

I was 14 then, coming home from school, to my mum rushing to prepare dinner for us before rushing back to the hospital to visit my dad.  You know that feeling where you feel sick to the stomach and your heart feels like bursting because you are sad but have to be strong?  Well, that’s how I felt.  Steeling myself also that if required, I would be the one to stop school.  Don’t ask me why I was a child and would be the “hero”…. I guess.

The whole church rallied around us and prayed, including all our friends from Sunday School.  We prayed for the best and hoped for the best.

His bed was always surrounded with visitors - family and church members – and despite being weak, he was always in good spirits, always with a smile (my dad is not a man of many words) for those who came.  Doctors and nurses included.  From what I remember, the doctors started him on a new drug, yet to be tested.  He was in the “C” ward.  We were young and didn’t understand very much but when you are in the “C” ward, it also means that your options are limited.

Their intent with the drug was to strengthen him sufficiently for an open surgery.  But there was a surprise in store for them.  In a week, my father’s ulcer had completely healed.  The doctors declared it a miracle! 

And so the story goes, I was able to complete school.   And am proud to be able to provide for my parents now.  But whenever something happens to my dad, I get that similar churn in the pit of the stomach.  Whether through his diabetes which was also miraculously healed.  Or his burst capillaries that threatened blood or skin cancer.  Or lung issues.  Those too he was shielded from.

Lately, we noticed that my dad’s hand trembles slightly when he performs some tasks and he is getting a bit forgetful.  Today, the physiotherapist suggested he went for a check up to rule out Parkinsons.

Once again, despite displaying an air of bravado, I had the sick to the pit feeling.  He is getting on in years.

A friend, not a Christian, who is very self-sufficient said he had never prayed before.  He believed that everything he had, he worked for.  Until his mother became seriously sick.  He said he didn’t know why but turned to prayer.  I think, it’s about getting to the place where you have no control.  That’s when people utter desperate prayers.

For me, I cling to God’s divine providence for my dad.  His life has always been and will always be God’s tapestry of grace.  Plus, his flock needs him (he shepherds the Peranakan congregation) and I still need my dad to be with me and remember me.