Earlier, I mentioned that my mother lived to give and
Christmas was her favorite time of the year.  In 1992,
Mama had a reoccurrence of stomach cancer.  Doctor
Hope of Presbyterian Hospital in Charlotte, North
Carolina thought Mama had beaten cancer after he
had removed two-thirds of her stomach almost three
years earlier.  The results of extensive blood work
every three months reflected no cancer present and
greatly encouraged my family and Doctor Hope that
Mama had indeed beaten cancer.  Suddenly and
without warning, Mama began experiencing sharp
stomach pain and severe digestion problems.  With a
quick trip to Charlotte, Doctor Hope revealed cancer
was again attacking my mama at an alarming and
devastating speed.  Doctor Hope scheduled surgery
as immediately as hospital-operating schedules would
allow. 

The times I spent alone with Mama prior to surgery in
her hospital room are the most treasured memories I
have of my mother.  Mama told me how proud she was
of me.  Mama told me how proud she was of my wife
Sally.  Since Sally’s mother had passed away at such
an early age in our newlywed years, Mama loved Sally
like a daughter and Sally loved Mama like a mother. 
Sally’s character truly reflected the character of my
mom.  I had indeed married a woman just like dear ole
Mom.  Mama told me how proud she was of my two
daughters, Natalie and Meredith, and the third
daughter (Robin), due anytime but yet to be born. 
Mama told me how proud she was of how I had lived
my life in my walk with God.  Mama and I had many
wonderful discussions about growing up in
Rockingham and McDonald Community.  Some of
those discussions are fuzzy and some have faded
away.  Yet, one conversation remains crystal clear
today as though she has just hung up the telephone. 
Not many days pass that I do not recall that particular
conversation and respond with a smile of comfort on
my face.  From her hospital room, Mama told me,
“Bob, God has been so good to me.  No one lives
forever on this Earth.  Sooner or later, we all will die.  I
could have been instantly killed in a head-on
automobile crash on my way to work at R.W.
Goodman’s.  Instead, God in his merciful grace has
given me the time and opportunity to tell your daddy
and you boys every thing I would want to say.  I am so
fortunate.  Nothing has been left unsaid.  God is good!”

Likewise, I will never forget the words of Doctor
Hope as he addressed Daddy, my brothers, and me in
the waiting room of Presbyterian Hospital within
minutes of exiting the surgery.  “Cecil, boys, cancer
has spread so rapidly that I cannot remove it all.  The
best I can do is to sew Lucille back up, prescribe a
heavy painkiller to make her as comfortable as
feasibly possible, and send her back home,” Doctor
Hope reported with tears in his eyes.  “Everyone had
rather die at home.  I am sorry. I have done all I can
do.  With conviction and confidence in his reassuring
words, Doctor Hope said, “God is preparing for Lucille
to come home.”  Thank God for Christian doctors!     

Daddy took Mama home to Rockingham and put a
hospital bed in our living room.  Mama had always
welcomed and entertained visitors in the living room
of our home.  It was only appropriate and natural that
that she greeted the many visitors who filed into our
home within the walls of our living room even though
she was too sick to carry on conversation. 
Approximately three weeks later, God opened the
Pearly Gates and Mama walked the streets of gold to
her mansion Jesus Christ had prepared for her,
cancer-free. 

Although the family rejoiced over the fact that Mama
no longer suffered, we were also on the other end of
human emotions and feelings.  The pain seemed
unbearable.  I started every morning out by standing
in my shower and crying.  Once the first drops of
water hit my face, the tears began to flow.  When I cut
the water and tears off, I was able to step out of the
shower and face the sympathizing public with a stoic
face even though I was sobbing hysterically inside. 
How was I going to be able to make it without my
mama and her words of encouragement?  My two girls
had just lost their last grandma.  They were too young
to be without a grandma.  To make matters worse,
God took my mama sixteen days before Robin, my
third and youngest daughter, was born.  What was
God thinking?  Natalie was ten years old and Meredith
had just turned three.  Mama loved dressing my girls
up in show-window fashion.  Now cancer had swiped
her excitement of showcasing a new wardrobe for
Robin.  For the first time in my life, the living room I
grew up in had no live Christmas tree.  For the first
time in my life, the scent of cedar in the home I grew
up in was absent.  For the first time in my life, the
spirit of Christmas in my childhood home was not
present.  For the first time in my life, Mama was not in
our living room.  The sting of death had a paralyzing
and numbing effect on the McDonald Family. 

This Christmas in the McDonald Family was quite a
contrast to the first Christmas in Bethlehem when
angels delivered “good tidings of great joy.” 
Christmas and life in general without Mama was
totally void of joy.  We went through the motions of
eating our first Christmas Eve dinner without Mama
and exchanging gifts after the meal as we always
had.  After all, it was a family tradition.  Yet, this
Christmas Eve dinner was missing the best biscuits
ever made and an apple cobbler with a coconut and
pecan crust that Betty Crocker could not duplicate. 
Nobody could cook like Mama!