The Best Christmas Ever

                        I think I have it.  That seasonal depression thing.  And I don’t think my disorder has anything to do with lack of sunlight.  In fact, I know exactly from where mine stems---Christmas of 1984.

                         My dad was a natural teacher.  If he had taught history, he would have been one of those guys who dressed up like George Washington.  But he didn’t teach history.  He taught veterinary preventive medicine, often a rather droll subject, though he made it as exciting for his students as he possibly could.  Visions of my dad riding his motor scooter down the corridors of Sisson Hall, field trips to state prison farms to care for their herds, and blindfolded spaghetti dinners at Pilot Dogs, to grasp some sense of what it was like to be blind, were just some of the memories and experiences generations of his students had.  I’m not sure how good a veterinarian he really was, but his dedication to his students and their education was legendary.

                        His career profoundly influenced me, my wife, and about 3000 other veterinarians between the ages of 45 and 85, many of whom you readers have known.  Sometimes even now, I get a certain feeling he is still teaching me things.

                        Five weeks before Christmas, my dad was diagnosed with lymphoma.  A good part of the next month was spent in the hospital, but he was doing well enough to come home for Christmas.

                        The gift I got for him still sits on my desk.  A little knick-knack plaque with a picture of an English Bulldog puppy and a kitten, it reads “Together we can lick anything.”  We couldn’t lick cancer, though.  Two days later he was back in the hospital, and thirty days after that, he died.  That Christmas day is the last day I remember him really being my dad.

                        Obviously, his loss left a huge hole in me.  Unfortunately, it also left a hole in Christmas for me, as well.

                        I don’t want anyone to think that I’m all “Bah humbug!” about Christmas, because I’m not.  I’m just a little blue that the last 24 Christmases haven’t been as enjoyable as the first 24.  I do understand the “reason for the season” and I greatly appreciate the generosity of our clients.

                        Every Christmas our office is overwhelmed with cookies, pies, pastries of all sorts, and a plethora of fruit baskets.  So much so that it is impossible for 11 of us to eat everything.  My wife suggested we save something for Jerry and his family.

                        Jerry Luersman, one of my large animal clients, raises Holstein steers.  He comes from a fine Delphos family, has a nice family of his own, and is one of the most pleasant people you could ever meet.

                        In November, Jerry was severely injured in a wood cutting accident.  He was out in the woods with his father, brother, nephew, and two sons.  The circular saw they were using broke, sending pieces into several of them, but mostly into Jerry.  Thanks to heroic action by his father and a life-saving helicopter ride, Jerry is going to be okay.  But, he does have some recuperating ahead of him---not the sort of thing any family should have to go through during the holidays.

                        Later that day, a brand new, unopened fruit basket magically, I think, appeared on my desk.  I found an old Christmas card and without much thought wrote, “Someday, this will be your best Christmas ever!”

                        After I wrote that phrase, it struck me how relevant it was to my own situation.  Christmas 1984 wasn’t my worst Christmas, it was my best.  I just didn’t know it.  Although not the happiest, it certainly was the most meaningful, and of all my Christmases, the one I remember like no other.

                        During those few weeks before Christmas, my dad and I spent a great deal of time together.  We talked about his early days of private practice in Preble County, and of his time in the Navy during World War II.  A homesick tale of listening to the Ohio State -Michigan game on a radio far away in the South Pacific was heartbreaking.  He also told me the intricacies of university politics and about how they overthrew the veterinary college dean.  These stories were going to be in a book he never got to write:  “Don’t Rock the Boat.”  He was, truth be told, a bit of a boat-rocker.

                        All in all, those were some of the most memorable days of our life together.  The saddest part is that there just weren’t enough of them.

                        I hope all of you had a Merry Christmas.  For some, undoubtedly this will be your best Christmas ever, too.  Happy New Year, Jerry!

 

Author:  Dr. John Jones

Image courtesy of m_bartosch at FreeDigitalPhotos.net