The Rosary and the lottery: A holiday story

I was saying my daily Rosary and Christmas eve was rapidly approaching. I’d ask my uncle occasionally if he’d be with family on Christmas Eve. I’d been supporting Uncle Ed since Nov. 6. He experiences dementia.

He’d reply “Nah, Kev (my brother), I’ll just stay here.”

I discovered his well-off son would be having a Christmas Eve family party. On Dec. 23 I asked again if Uncle Ed was going to be with family on the eve of Christ’s birth. “Nah, Paul, I’ll just stay here.”

I just happened to be in house on the 23rd when privileged son phoned to tell Uncle Ed he’d be picked up on the 24th. He was excited. I could tell by my uncle’s answers that I was invited. He never mentioned it.

That eve around 4:45 p.m. I walked into the home and this 83-year-old man is sitting — dignified — waiting anxiously, dressed with a Blarney Wollen Mills patched cabby hat, short, white socks pulled over leg stocking (for circulation support), brown leather shoes, creased 1960s pants, a light brown shirt and a brown tweed jacket with arm patches. He’s got a smile and is excited, though.

As we usually do, we sit and chat. His excitement level is high because he’s retelling more stories than usual. I’m affirming each one, like it’s the first time I’ve heard it.

Suddenly, he says he hears something outside.

“Sounds like a door,” my uncle says.

I’m anticipating a loving family member coming to hug him and drive him to the family party, thinking the drive would be a fun part of the whole evening. Uncle Ed sees virtually no family but me for weeks on end. I open the door and am greeted by a friendly “driver” sent by the well-to-do son. I shake the driver’s hand and wish him a merry Christmas.

My uncle shuffles out to the car through snow and ice, but approaches the “wrong side” and is sensitively cued to go around to the other side of car. He almost slips and falls in the unplowed driveway getting in the car. The driver tries to assist, but timing isn’t right. Out of concern for Uncle Ed, I instinctively say “merry Christmas” to the driver again as he passes by the rear of the car to the driver’s side. Then, I shake his hand, again.

The driver gives me a slightly odd, but friendly vibe. I want my uncle to be emotionally safe on the drive over to party. I realized later, that the driver was probably looking for a tip.

Christmas morning I come in his home from my RV parked in driveway to say “merry Christmas!” I notice a JCPenney clothes box on the couch.

“Uncle Ed, how was the party?”

“Good,” he said.

Me: “Who drove you home?”

Uncle Ed: “Oh, they had a driver bring me back.”

Me: “What time did you get home?”

Uncle Ed, “12:30 or so. You should see the huge addition to my son’s home! It’s bigger than his house!”

Me: “How many people there?”

Uncle Ed: “40 to 50, I guess.”

My attention goes back to the solo, medium-sized JCPenney box on couch.

Me: “Uncle Ed, what’s your gift?”

He hobbles over to the couch and opens box: a maroon sweatshirt (size L, $25). I see a card in the box and ask about it. He opens the card and there are five, $5 Massachusetts Lottery tickets. He grabs all five and takes them to a TV tray near favorite chair and starts telling me the story about his son’s bad luck, a story I’ve heard many times.

While he’s scratching, I looked across the room and see a crucifix that reminded me of the Rosary. Uncle Ed is seated, bent over with glasses, feverishly scratching the lottery tickets. Since it’s Christmas, I ask if he had any Rosary bead sets in the house from Terry, his wife, who prayed the Rosary and recently died of Alzheimer’s.

He responds, “Look, I think I just won $5!”

Paul Maguire, Ph.D. is a Palmer resident.