Praying for a Stranger

Tonight while having dinner next to the ocean in Hawaii, a family of three was seated at the table next to us. A mother, her teen, and preteen daughter. The youngest sat close to her mom touching her every chance she got....a finger to her mothers shoulder, a squeeze of her hand, a kiss to the cheek. The other sat on the far side of the table with a chair between her an her mother, and another between her sister and herself. She sat prim and proper in her chair, and even though she participated in the conversation you could tell that something was weighing heavy upon her shoulders. The mother sat tall and proud and hung on every word that was said by either of her dark haired, beautiful daughters. But looking closely, I realized that the silk scarf covering her head, was trying to hide the fact that she was bald. A baldness that can only be contributed to chemotherapy and the diagnosis of cancer.

The puzzle pieces began to fall into place and the scenario began to make sense. A mother, perhaps single, who wished special memories with daughters, just in case the outcome was not good....a daughter who wanted to hold on tight and never let her mother go,...... an older daughter more knowledgable about the game of cancer and dealing with it in her own way...... Even if wrong, I knew the scenario could not be good..... as I visually eavesdropped onto their conversation and their life, I related to her as a mother, how might I feel in the same predicament, and how would my children fair, if they too were caught in the same web.

So, I opened up my heart and and said a silent prayer, imploring God to protect this family, for these two girls needed their mother and I vehemently hoped it made a difference.

It is a Tigger life for me.

Around the age of eighteen, my sister Denise moved away from home. After a couple of tries with roommates, she realized she was better off alone. Then one day, she came by to show us a roommate she thought she could get along well with. A tiny calico kitten; white with spots of brown, yellow, and black, that she promptly named Tigger.

Tigger was her baby and her pride and joy. So, when Denise started dating her husband to be, Bob, he learned quickly that the key to her heart lay through Tigger. Early on in their relationship he bought her a stuffed Tigger, like the one from the Disney's, Winnie of Pooh.

Both Tiggers were a part of their family for many years. Tigger the kitty lived a great life that spanned almost twenty years as a loved and loving member of the family.
Stuffed Tigger, lived on Denise's bed and slept with her and Bob at night. With age Tigger needed repairs and permanent stitches could be seen on his worn and well loved coat. When circumstances took them away from home, Tigger went with them.....whether camping, or living it up in a hotel, Denise always made room in her luggage for him, and often he was spotted being carried in the crook of her arm. Tigger became a symbol of their love for each other.

So, when Denise passed away a decision had to be made as to what should be done with Tigger, but her family knew that after thirty five years, a separation was the worst possible scenario, and so it was decided that Denise and Tigger should be buried together. When her daughter took him to the mortuary, she asked that he be placed in the crook of her arm, just like where he had spent so many hours.

Recently, we gathered together as a family to celebrate Denise's grandson, Grey's, second birthday and to surprise his mom with a baby shower for his soon to be sister. Presents were opened and ooo'd and awwwww'd over, but then a gift stopped us all in our tracks. Denise's granddaughter-to-be received a bright shiny new Tigger from a friend, Kristin, who is more family than not.

There was not a dry eye in the house and at first I thought, what an amazing present this was, but quickly it became glaringly obvious that the tears were also representative of the reality, that someone who should have been there was absent. My heart broke for my sister who will never meet her granddaughter, for a daughter whose pain of not having her mother with her at this time, is so clearly evident, and for a granddaughter who will never know how much her grandmother wanted to be here to meet her.

But thoughts like these would not change anything and my sister would be the first to take the emphasis off her and put it on something she felt more important. So, I decided instead to look at the hope this gift offered. Hope that this Tigger would be loved as much as Denise's Tigger, that it would be be a constant reminder of Denise's love for all of us and our love for her. That through our memories of Denise and her Tigger we can let this precious baby girl know that she is loved and that her Grammie is alive in her and through us.