Santa is setting the presents in under and around the tree and thoughts of the true spirit of Christmas are taking root in our home tonight. I am very fortunate to be surrounded by so much love, so much camaraderie, so much brotherhood. It’s no cliché, it’s real.
We’ve managed to set aside most of the capitalistic aspect of this holiday season and turned more toward the spirituality and the humanity that makes this time so precious.
It’s that humanity that brings my mind to one particular incident that occurred back in October. I’ve blogged twice or thrice on it, but can’t seem to shake the emotion it has brought to me and my family. I’m sure it wouldn’t have the power it does if I didn’t have a daughters of my own.
Further, being out on a disability won’t soon put me in the same situation as this brave firefighter endured in the middle of the night while his family was so safely and securely tucked away- peacefully unaware of the tragedy unfolding nearby.
I’m referring to the death of Yonkers firefighter Patrick Joyce. When his daughters woke up the next morning, they found out that Daddy would not be coming home. The next morning, his seven-year old daughter penned the following in her diary:
Many brave brothers and sisters have gone the route both recently and in years past. Something about this line of duty death hit me hard.
Tonight, Christmas Eve, I am praying again for the family of Patrick Joyce and his family. I just went in and kissed my sleeping 8-year old on the forehead. I thank the Lord I can still do that. That is so important to me.
May you all be able to do what is important to you for many many more years to come.
Merry Christmas to you all.
