Carol and I were married four years ago, on December 21, at the O’Neill House, a magnificent Tudor mansion where one of Akron’s rubber barons once lived. We made our vows in front of a huge Christmas tree, surrounded by family and a lifetime of friends. The harpist played Greensleeves. My grandson, Gabriel, just 14 months old at the time, wearing a white tuxedo and angel wings, carried our rings. At the worst possible time he fell into the harpist’s music stand. When we tried to make him stand still, he twisted away and fell into the tree.

Standing up with us that day were my daughters, Jenifer and Kary, and Carol’s sister, Joyce. Three of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.

We spent Christmas Day in the hospital, watching Carol’s sister unwrap her presents. You see, Joyce was dying of breast cancer. For months she had struggled to stay alive long enough to see her sister get married. Now, with that once seemingly impossible mission accomplished, it was time for Joyce to say good-bye to us.

When I said that Joyce was beautiful, I have never meant anything more.

Joyce did not have an easy life. Throughout her childhood she had to endure a number of painful surgeries to help her walk. When she was a young adult, she was diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis, a rare disorder of the nervous system than soon covered her skin with tumors.

But Joyce’s inner beauty made the physical burdens she bore disappear. Her parents raised her to be as optimistic and outgoing as her big sister. All of her adult life she held a very public job, at the library. She traveled. She collected all sorts of goofy things and was always off to one convention or the other. She was up for any adventure. She never hid herself or felt sorry for herself. When people stared, she smiled. When people were uneasy, she hugged them.

Then the cancer came. She faced it as just another little problem. She died the day after Christmas.

I have always loved Greensleeves. To me its melody is magical. Somehow its easy, swaying notes fill me with both joy and the sweetest kind of sadness. The way Christmas does.

Greensleeves is an old English folk song, with many different lyrics, some dark and a wee bit bawdy. But here are those sung at Christmas:

What child is this, who, lay to rest,
on Mary’s lap, is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
while shepherds watch are keeping

This, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
Haste, Haste, to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary

Why lies he in such mean estate
where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear; for sinners
here the silent Word is pleading

So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh come,
peasant, King, to own him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
let loving hearts enthrone Him

This, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
Haste, Haste, to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary

A Merry and Blessed Christmas To All