Dear Milette,

 

This stretch of time brought us quiet moments to pause as the world swept by with its shopping lists. With good cheer, we ducked into the still eye of the holiday storm to exchange Thanksgiving blessings, wish one another a prayerful Advent and affirm our priorities of keeping Christ in Christmas. We never described exactly what we did to keep Christ in Christmas, only that we placed uppermost in our thoughts “the reason for the season” – an oft-stated phrase of yours.

 

That spirit was best captured in this card that you sent us one year, my most favorite ever from you. It tells of “The Christmas Legend of the Roses.” Let it speak for you again:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To celebrate our tradition, I’d like to write about a way in which I’ve kept my Advent hope and Christmas joy evergreen. It consists of short scriptural readings that, by glad coincidence, starts on the date of your birth into eternity, December 17, and ends December 23. This practice is rooted in the ancient Church custom of praying the ‘O’ Antiphons, one for each day of the week before Christmas Eve.

 

Each Antiphon addresses Christ as God with a different biblical title, preceded by the invocation ‘O.’ The seven titles in Latin, in their proper order, are: Sapientia (Wisdom), Adonai (Lord), Radix Jesse (Root of Jesse) Clavis David (Key of David), Oriens (Dayspring), Rex Gentium (King of Nations), and Emmanuel (God-with-us). The first letters of the Latin titles, read in reverse order, form the acrostic Ero cras, which translates as “I will be with you tomorrow.”

 

Think of it, Milette: when I pray the ‘O’ Antiphons each Advent beginning the week of December 17, I can also honor your new birth anniversary. We still will be together in prayer. It will be a comfort to think of you saying again, “Lynne, there are no coincidences,” as I mark this most joyous of seasons with you and without you.

 

In the eulogy I wrote for your memorial Mass last spring, my closing line quotes your sign-off in your final e-mail to me of November 28, 2014. “Till next” I wrote, without a period to end the phrase. My sister asked about it but knew the answer. I have faith that, already, you know it too: I will be with you tomorrow.  Thank you always, for all you were in my life.

 

In your eternal sunrise, you have taken our friendship to Forever.

It will sustain me as I continue in the forward thrust of time.

And until my "Tomorrow" comes and I am called home,

the sun will not set on our golden days.