My Gran and the Christmas Invitation

 My Gran and the Christmas Invitation:

Today, the 26th of December, St. Stephen’s Day, is a very sacred one in our family… not just because of the first Martyr’s witness and passing to the Lord, but because it is also my Gran’s anniversary.

My Mother’s mother, she was one of the greatest influences in my life growing up. 

She still is.

I have always regarded Gran as one of my first and best teachers, not only in the ways of faith but even on the contemplative path within it. 

Many, many hours were spent with her, listening to her stories and imbibing her teaching, (though she would never have called it that… she simply taught by her very being, as all good elders do). Faith for her was as natural as breathing, and indeed, if you listened as closely as I often did to her whistled breathing as she went about her day, a short prayer to the Sacred Heart or to Our Lady was often just beneath the surface of her breath. 

Like her own Mother and Grandmother before her she was a “sharp woman”, as they used to say in Dublin, meaning a wise person and one with a direct line to the Spiritual world. 
Her mother was sought out amongst the Dublin flats as she had “the way” of helping difficult births and deaths and was often asked for advice about a “match” between couples as she had a “good eye” for these things.

Gran was no different and there were many times I would go over to her house to find her sitting beside the phone waiting for the call that would tell her so and so had died. She, of course, already knew as she had “the dream” the previous night… the phone call always came to confirm it and I soon learned to be used to it. 
On other occasions I would arrive to hear her chatting aloud with someone only to discover her alone by the fire when I entered the room. 

I never asked. 

She never said. 

We didn’t need to. 

She taught me those ways too. 
“Look into the fire and tell me what you see” she would say, and then smile when, to my surprise, I saw. 

She taught me to look at people’s eyes when they spoke and at the way they stood and moved. 
She had tremendous devotion to the Blessed Virgin who had “been through it all” and her prayers to her were not so much novenas or devotions as a constant conversation born of a life long trust. She had great respect for the friars and religious orders much preferring their churches in town where she could attend anonymously, not liking the front seat parish people as she called them. 
She reminded me often never to judge anyone and taught me to give to the poor, especially beggars in the street. 
“There’s always a story there,” she would say, 
“No one is on the street because they want to be.” 
Women were on the street or poor because, 
“Men put them there.” 
Men were on the street or poor because, 
“Most men are fools for the bottle or for a story.” 
No matter the reason they were to be listened to and helped. 

She had been sharp in other ways too. A difficult start in life and then losing her husband early on had made her hard in her mid-life and it was only as a Gran that she softened again. In her later years she would often tell me that she was glad she got to be a Gran after everything she had been through. 

She often worried about her death. 

She was not afraid to die. 
"No one dies alone", she would say. 
She had seen enough deaths to know that, 
“They come to collect you.” 

She was, however, afraid that she would die in the house and that I or another grandchild would find her. So for the last few years of her life she prayed everyday the “Thirty day’s prayer” to Our Lady for a happy death and listed the way she wanted to go: 

She wanted to die in her sleep so she could “wake up in Heaven”. 

She wanted to die alone but having said her goodbyes and surrounded by love. 

She wanted to be ready to go. 

She talked about it often, not in a morbid way, but in the way you recite your shopping list. 

Going and coming were natural in their very essence, and death, she had long taught and lived, was nothing to be afraid of for a Christian soul.

That Christmas she had been very unwell. 

Pneumonia had followed a chest and kidney infection and a stay in hospital was called for. She did not want to go but acquiesced at my Mum’s request. Feeling a little better after a few days of antibiotics she was to be released for Christmas by the Docs even though Mum was not happy that she was ready. She came home to us. She was weak and a slim figure of her former self though I still wondered at the muscled arms of her small frame, a result of countless years of housework when that still meant a physical ordeal. She spent most of the next couple of day’s in bed sleeping. She smiled a lot and we got to visit with her and hold her hand and chat. 
Christmas Eve came and her children and grandchildren all visited with presents and smiles and the occasional worried whispered conversation with my Mum and Dad as to how she was doing. Christmas Day she was very quiet and slept a lot. As the house was beginning to settle down she called my Mum into the room and very deliberately and unusually for a woman of her time, thanked her for all she had done and then told her she loved her. My Mum was somewhat taken aback but at that moment Gran asked her who it was that was standing behind her. 
There was no one there that Mum could see. 
Gran’s eyes focused on the spot behind her and she relaxed. 

“It’s alright,” Gran said, “I know them.” 

Mum said her smile was a beautiful thing at that moment. 

She told Mum, “You can go down to the family now, I’m fine”. 

Mum did, though to the end of her own days she often wondered why she did. 

As she went downstairs she could hear Gran talking quietly in the room.

Later Mum checked in on her to find her sleeping deeply and gently. 

That night a Blackbird sang outside the house all night. 

I remember looking out to try and see it. 

I could not. 

I should have known. 

Gran had often taught me to watch out for Blackbirds. 

“They are special to our family,” she would say, 
“Your Grandfather loved them and they come to warn us of things.” 

“Whenever you see one, say a prayer to your Grandad.” 

I still do.

The following morning, very early, Mum woke suddenly and went straight to check on her. 

Gran had passed away. 

She was still warm and she was smiling gently. 

Mum called for the Priest and the Doctor and then carefully woke us all. I still remember that there were no tears in the house that morning. It all felt very peaceful and quiet. The Priest administered the Last Rites as he felt that she had only just gone before Mum found her. 
A little later myself and Mum stood in the bedroom with Gran laid out very peacefully. Mum and I were quiet together looking out the window. 

On the lawn a hen Blackbird was hopping around. 

We smiled at that. 

“Well”, I said, “She certainly got the death she had wanted!” 

Mum told me then about the things that had happened the previous night and about Gran seeing someone in her room. 

Someone who had made her smile. 

“Do you think it was Grandad?” I asked. 

At that moment, right in front of us, a Cock Blackbird, all shiny black and bright yellow beaked flew down beside the Hen on the lawn outside. They greeted each other and flew off  together.

After that there was nothing else to say.

Gran had gotten the death she had asked for and we had received the little signs of her going.

In Ireland there has always been the custom of the “Cuireadh na Nollaig” the so called “Christmas Invitation” the feeling that a death at this time of the year is especially blessed and that the signs around it are powerful. Today, thirty years later I write this so that this story of my Gran’s passing may be remembered and may bring peace and hope to all who read it…

And perhaps the next time you see a Blackbird you might say a prayer for all your loved ones gone before you…