There Was No Laughter

In the nursing home,

the Mass was too long. Mom slept, snoring loudly, her head wobbling as if an invisible

puppeteer were trying to make the other parishioners laugh.

I prayed to God.

In her room, Mom struggled with the top of her sweater. She squinted at the thermostat,

shook her head like a dog when I said its as high as it can go. “My son will fix it tomorrow

because everything’s closed Christmas Day,” she answered.

When I signed out, the head nurse explained that other residents complained. An aid

would find a Mass on TV so Mom could watch in her room.

In the parking lot I stared at the manger at the front door, the star, Mary, the three wise

men. I waited for faith. Hope. Anything.