s.o.u.l.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph! A Rabbi at my side?”

The clock strikes midnight. I whisper, “Merry Christmas, Dad”.

I squeeze his hand softly, kiss his hallowed cheek. His breathing is shallow, legs swollen and dark, his face a ghost-like grey. Beeeep. Then nothing.

“12:21 am on Christmas morning. I am so sorry. He is at rest now.”

The news would be revealed later in the day, after presents, breakfast, and sooo much coffee. The irony. Only a sense of humor like Dad’s would appreciate this! A woman Rabbi giving Last Rites on Christmas Eve to Sweet Ole’ Uncle Lar.