When we reached my wife Lesa's parent's house in northeast Georgia on Christmas Day, we learned that Lesa's favorite aunt Hazel died earlier that morning. After a year filled with health problems, she had been at home on hospice care.
On her Facebook page, Lesa wrote that she "spent much of Friday looking out over the lawn where my cousins and I played at many a summer's twilight. My beloved aunt died Christmas morning, breaking one more scarce tendril connecting me to my childhood."
A friend told me that in the Jewish tradition, Hazel would have been viewed as a special woman since people who die on holidays are thought to have a direct line to God and Heaven. She was special, doing more for others than for herself over her 79 year life.
How sad it is, some think, that Hazel died on Christmas morning. I think it was fitting. She was her family's greatest gift.