For those who have lost, no greater joy is that what has been gained

I want to write a positive, heartwarming story about loss during the Christmas season, and how time will heal, but not cure, a broken heart.

Once upon a time, a man was feeding the birds in a local park. He had been widowed for the past twenty-two years, with his beloved wife of thirty-one years passing away from cancer. But instead of mourning, every year on the anniversary of her death, he took his grown children on unforgettable travel adventure. One year, it was a one-month tour of the British Isles. Another, a sun-drenched three-week cruise through the Carribean. And for the fifieth anniversary, the father and children traveled across Russia, from Moscow to the cold, harsh steppes of the Siberian forests.

Christmases were also feasts that defied description. Not only did he invite the family, he invited the neighbors. The grown children also received checks for vast sums, some of which were invested to generate even more wealth through wise investments. He made sure Christmas was a celebration, not a time to weep or mourn.

That didn't mean he never mourned at all. Quite the contrary - each day on the hour of his wife's death, he would light four candles and pray silently. One candle, a black candle, symbolized loss, in this case his wife. Another candle, a blue candle, symbolized his wife's favorite color. A pink color represented hope in desperate times. When he lit the final candle, a white candle that symbolized her new home in Heaven, only then would he allow himself to weep and shudder over that loss. Even on his trips and during Christmas, he would find a quiet spot and light the candles.

While he was feeding the birds, a woman approached him. "I see the birds are having quite a feast, like the ones you give the neighborhood." The man was shocked - how did she know about him? Then the woman said, "Your wife is quite pleased that you've carried on with your life, yet you spend time honoring her without fail. Do you know that your wife knows the sex of your grandchildren, and the time your son will be promoted?"

The man recoiled in horror. "You've got to be kidding!" The woman smiled and said, "Meet me back in a year's time."

Sure enough, not only did his daughter have twin boys, but his oldest son was promoted after years of struggling at his job. The woman returned, and the man, humbled by the prediction, finally realized who the woman really was.

"I suppose she knows the exact day I'll rejoin her."

"The next time you'll see me, I'll tell you the exact hour."

This didn't happen for at least ten years. By then, he became more and more frail, using crutches and soon, a walker. Even when his grandsons pushed him in a wheelchair to feed the pigeons, the life and sparkle in his eyes never left.

The next year, he was bedridden, too tired and frail to feed the pigeons. He shut his eyes, and the woman that he met at the park bench appeared. She wasn't dressed in a business suit like she usually was - and accompanying her was his beloved wife. The woman then said, "Now it's time." His wife gently took him by the arm, and with a quick breath, he passed from the mortal to the eternal.

Something different happened at his funeral, though. It was such a simple, understated affair compared to the adventures and parties he led. Each of his grandchildren carried a large candle to the altar - the same black, blue, pink, and yellow that the man lit at the hour of his wife's death. The youngest grandchild carried a fifth candle, which was multi-colored. It was fitting that a candle colored like this represented him the best, and per his orders, his sons and daughters wore colorful clothing and pastels; and that on the same hour of his death, the children light the five candles; and that on every year of his death, they embark on vacations and vacations that they can live that ultimate fantasy.

Dedicated to the memory of Bernard C. Colby