January | 2024 | Dare Boldly

As laughter and warmth filled our dining room on the evening of December 30th, it felt as if Christmas had come again just for us.

Minus the gift exchange and the date, it truly had. My brother-in-law, Jim, had spent the actual holiday visiting one of his daughters in another city, and we had faced our first Christmas since Jackie’s passing without either of them. Deciding on a Re-do with Jim was an important step in our healing, a loving gesture to bridge the gap death had left in our family circle.

The night of our Re-do, 13 people gathered around our dining room table. We cheered, toasted, and shared stories about life, travels, and the people who make it all worthwhile. With Jim present, Jackie’s absence was even more profoundly noticeable than at our dinner on Christmas night.

During the evening, a regular guest at our family and friends dinners revealed that he often rearranged the name tags I’d placed around the table to ensure he would be sitting next to Jackie. This simple yet touching act was a beautiful testament to Jackie’s quiet and caring influence.

Jackie was often the one I placed next to guests who were new to the circle. She had a natural talent for making newcomers feel at home. She could draw anyone into laughter and conversation, making them feel as though they’d been part of our group for years. This was just one of her many gifts.

As a sister, Jackie was a rock for both Anne, my middle sister, and me. Dependable, loyal, and an exceptional listener, she could be forthright in her opinions, yet her feedback was always delivered with love.

Jackie’s aversion to making waves probably explained why she got along with everyone – truly, everyone.

I was once likened to a Jack Russell Terrier for my tenacity, but Jackie was the St. Bernard of our family. She was the rescuer, offering just the right mix of comfort and support. At the reception after her memorial, many shared stories of her kindness, like greeting new neighbors or bringing food to those in need. My husband, C.C., was often a beneficiary of her thoughtfulness, especially when I was away.

Anne, our middle sister, is akin to a Cockapoo – friendly, loyal, and a lover of people and animals. Always ready for an adventure but equally content with quiet moments, Anne embodies a fierce loyalty. But once trust is broken, it’s a challenge to rebuild, yet, even when I did something to get us both in trouble when we were younger, Anne would always defend me, often taking the blame for my missteps to protect me from the ire of our parents.

Throughout the years, the loyalty and tenacity of our ‘alter-ego-dogs’ played a role in keeping our bond together. We loved one another fiercely, even in those moments where we were driving one another crazy. It is our sister-triangle that has been a cornerstone of my life throughout the years. And though Jackie was the eldest, once we aged-out of the big sister-little sister dynamics and what I called her bossy-stage, she always treated me as an equal.

Our bond involved the usual sisterly phone calls, sometimes triangulating our relationships as one or the other of us vented about something the other had done. Yet, we always returned to the one thing that sustained us — a deeply lived commitment within each of us to keeping our sister-connection alive, no matter the miles or age that separated us.

It’s just Anne and me now. A dynamic duo rather than triangle. Still, Jackie’s essence permeates our interactions, providing a touchstone to keep our sisterly bond alive. While new stories of Jackie’s antics won’t be created, her memory continues to weave through our lives, reassuring us that she watches over us, like a guardian St. Bernard.

We held a Christmas dinner Re-do last Thursday. Neither Jackie nor Anne were at the table, but both were unmistakably present in my heart. it’s where they always are. A sisterly-bond that can never broken.

I am grateful.

I am blessed.

Have you ever pondered the essence of a miracle? Is it alchemy, divine intervention, or something else that manifests the wonder of dreams coming true, prayers being answered, and wishes fulfilled?

What if the real magic lies in simple acts? Following your intuition to do someone a favour, show kindness to a stranger, or support a friend in need could be all it takes.

What if you could be someone else’s miracle?

Several years ago, while working at an adult emergency homeless shelter, Terry, a client in his 50s, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. His humor, willingness to pitch in, and help out where needed made him well-liked and known by all.

During his final Christmas season, a charity came in to conduct their Christmas Wish List. Terry’s wish was to visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras, not for the party (though he loved to party). For Terry, it was the resilience of the city that called to him. “If New Orleans could come back from Katrina the way it did, maybe if I go there, I’ll be able to come back from this cancer,” he told the young woman who interviewed him for the Wish List.

Touched by his story, she organized with a group of co-workers and friends to raise money to send Terry to New Orleans.

Terry never made the trip, but in her efforts to galvanize community around him, local media became interested in Terry’s story. A few days after an article about Terry appeared in the local newspaper, I received a call from a woman informing me she was married to Terry’s brother, Larry. Terry had been put into care when he was 8. Larry had spent his adult life trying to find his baby brother.

And that’s where the real miracle of Christmas began.

I told Terry about the phone call from his brother’s wife, and five days later, after almost 34 years of searching, Larry and Terry were reunited.

But the miracle didn’t stop there.

Terry had a profound fear of dying alone. In his final moments, it was his long-lost brother Larry who held his hand, a testament to the power of connection and kindness.

And though he never made it to New Orleans, we did hold a Mardi Gras-themed party for him at a local Southern-style pub where over 50 people came to celebrate him and bid him farewell.

It was all a miracle. A miracle that was created by the actions of many people listening to their intuition, compelling them to take action to make a difference in a homeless man’s life.

And, in the end, this quiet, funny, affable man whose life story led him to spend his final years in a homeless shelter was celebrated nationwide. Shortly after his death, Maclean’s Magazine dedicated The Last Page, a monthly feature about notable Canadians who had recently passed away, to Terry’s story.

Truly a miracle.

So, I leave you with this thought: Are you ready to be a miracle in someone’s life? Will you choose to be a force of grace in the world today?