"Dad, is Mary coming home for Christmas?" she asked.
I ran a hand through my hair. "No, I don't think so. Mary is very sick."
"Is she going to die?"
I wondered what that meant to my l ittle girl.
"Yes, honey. I think she will die."
"If she is going to die, I want to giv e h er my present first."
She ran over to the tree and lifted a s mall, inexpertly wrapped package. "I made her an angel." With excitemen t s he unveiled a petite cardboard ange l c onstructed with tape, glue, and pape r c lips.
"Dad, I think Mary likes angels."
I started to sob quietly. "Yeah, I thin k s he likes angels, too."
In the silence of the lights we faced t he death of a friend.
In the outer hall I could hear the r inging of the telephone. Ker i a nswered it, then found us downstairs.
"Rick, that was the hospital. Mary is d ying."
I wrapped Jenna up warmly and s et her in the car with Keri. We drov e s eparately, so that one of us coul d b ring Jenna home when the tim e c ame. We arrived at the hospital an d t ogether opened the door to Mary's r oom. The room was dimly illuminated by a single lamp. We coul d h ear Mary's shallow breathing. Mar y w as awake and looked toward us.
Jenna rushed to the side of the r eclining bed and, inserting her tin y h and through the side rails, presse d t he little angel into Mary's hand.
"I brought you something, Mary. It's y our Christmas present."
Mary slowly raised the ornament to h er view, smiled, then squeezed th e l ittle hand tightly.
"Thank you, darling." She coughed h eavily. "It's beautiful." Then sh e s miled into the little face. "You're s o b eautiful." She rubbed her han d a cross Jenna's cheek.
Painfully, she turned to her side a nd extended her hand to me.
I walked to her side and took it gently in mine.
"How do you feel, Mary?"
She forced a smile through the p ain. "Do you know yet, Rick? Do yo u k now what the first Christmas gif t w as?"
I squeezed her hand tightly.
"You do understand, don't you?"
"Yes. I understand now. I know w hat you were trying to tell me."
Tears started to fall down my c heeks. I took a deep breath to clea r m y throat.
"Thank you, Mary. Thank you for w hat you've given me."
"You found the letters in the Christmas Box?"
"Yes. I'm sorry that I read them."
"No, it's all right. I'm glad the letter s w ere read. They were meant to b e r ead." She fell silent for a moment.
"I'd like you to have the Christmas Box. It's my Christmas gift to you."
"Thank you. I will always treasure it."
The room was quiet.
"Andrea waits," she said suddenly.
I smiled. "She has been very close,"
I said.
She smiled at me again, then lifted h er eyes to Keri.
"Thank you for your friendship, dear. It has meant a lot to me."
"Merry Christmas, Mary," Keri said.
"God bless you, child," she said b ack lovingly. "Take good care of you r l ittle family." She looked at Ker i t houghtfully. "You'll do fine."
Mary closed her eyes and lay back i nto her pillow. Keri's eyes watered a s s he lifted Jenna and carried her out o f t he room. I stayed behind, caressin g t he smooth, warm hands for the las t t ime.
"Merry Christmas, Mary," I whispered. "We'll miss you."
Mary's eyes opened again. She l eaned forward toward the foot of th e b ed. A smile spread across her fac e a s a single tear rolled down he r c heek. She said something too soft t o h ear. I leaned my ear near to he r m outh. "My angel," she repeated. I followed her gaze to the foot of the be d b ut saw only the green cotton hospita l g own draped over the end rail. I looked back at her in sadness. She w as leaving us, I thought. It was the n t hat I heard the music. The gentle , sweet tines of the Christmas Box.
Softly at first, then as if to fill the entir e r oom, strong and bright and joyful. I looked again at the weary face. It wa s f illed with peace. Her deep eye s s parkled and the smile grew. Then I understood and I too smiled. Andre a h ad come.
By the time I reached home it was w ell past midnight. Mary's brothe r h ad arrived from London and in deference I had left them alone to shar e t he last few minutes together. Jenn a h ad been put to bed and Keri, no t k nowing when I would return, ha d s adly laid the Christmas package s u nder the tree. I sat down in th e r ocker in front of the illuminated Christmas tree and lay my head in m y h ands. Somewhere between th e a ngel and Mary's house I had figure d i t out. The first gift of Christmas. It jus t c ame. It came to my heart. The firs t g ift of Christmas was love. A parent's l ove. Pure as the first snows of Christmas. For God so loved His childre n t hat He sent His son, that we migh t s omeday return to Him. I understoo d w hat Mary had been trying to teac h m e. I stood up and walked up th e s tairs where my little girl lay sleeping.
I picked up her warm little body and, cradling her tightly in my arms , brought her back down to the den. My t ears fell on her hair. My little girl. My p recious little girl. How foolish I'd b een to let her childhood, her fleeting , precious childhood slip away. Forever. In my young mind everythin g w as so permanent and lasting. My little girl would be my little girl forever.
But time would prove me wrong.
Someday she'd grow up. Someday s he'd be gone and I would be left wit h t he memory of giggles and secrets I might have known.
Jenna took a deep breath and s nuggled close for warmth. I held he r l ittle body tightly against mine. Thi s w as what it meant to be a father, t o k now that one day I would tur n a round and my little girl would b e g one. To look upon the sleeping littl e g irl and to die a little inside. For on e p recious, fleeting moment, to hold th e c hild in my arms, and would that tim e s tood still.
But none of that mattered now. Not n ow. Not tonight. Tonight Jenna wa s m ine and no one could take this Christmas Eve away from me but me.
How wise Mary had been. Mary, who k new the pain of a father sending hi s s on away on that first Christma s m orn, knowing full well the path tha t l ay ahead. Mary understood Christmas. The tears in the Bible showe d t hat. Mary loved with the pure, swee t l ove of a mother, a love so deep that i t b ecomes the allegory for all othe r l ove. She knew that in my quest fo r s uccess in this world I had been trading diamonds for stones. She knew , and she loved me enough to help m e s ee. Mary had given me the greates t g ift of Christmas. My daughter's childhood.
EPILOGUE:
It was around nine o 'clock Christmas morning that Mary's b rother called to tell us Mary wa s g one. The call found Keri and me holding each other on the couch in Mary's d en, surrounded by the aftermath of Christmas giving. I lifted the Christmas Box down from the fireplace mante l w here we had placed it in memory of Mary. I set the box near the hearth , then one by one, let the flames devou r t he letters as Keri watched in silen t u nderstanding. The Christmas Bo x w as at last empty.
Mary was buried next to the small a ngel statue that she had so faithfull y v isited. In the course of our assistin g i n the burial arrangements, the funera l h ome had asked Keri what the y s hould engrave on the headstone. "A loving mother," she said simply.
Every Christmas Eve, for as long a s we lived in the valley, we returne d t o the grave and laid a white lil y b eneath the feet of the angel wit h o utspread wings. Keri and I lived i n t he mansion for the space of severa l m ore Christmas seasons until th e f amily decided to sell the estate, an d w e purchased a home in the southern end of the valley. In the year s s ince, our family grew from three t o s ix, and though the demands of providing for such a family oftentime s s eemed endless, I never forgot th e l essons I learned that Christmas with Mary.
And to this day, the Christmas Box r emains a source of great joy to me.
For though it appears empty, to me it c ontains all that Christmas is mad e o f, the root of all wonder in a child's
e yes, and the source of the magic of Christmases for centuries to come.
More than giving, more than believing, for these are mere manifestations of the contents of that box. Th e s acred contents of that box are a parent's pure love for a child, manifeste d f irst by a Father's love for all His children, as He sacrificed that which He l oved most and sent His son to eart h o n that Christmas day so long ago.
And as long as the earth lives, and l onger, that message will never die.
Though the cold winds of life may put a frost on the heart of many, tha t m essage alone will shelter the hear t f rom life's storms. And for me, as lon g a s I live, the magic inside the Christmas Box will never die.
It never will.
*
In Memoriam:
The Angel statue, of which the author makes mention, was destroyed in 1984 by the great floods that cam e through the Salt Lake Valley.
A new Angel monument, in remembrance of all those who have lost children, was erected in the same Salt Lake City cemetery and dedicated December 6, 1994.
The author wishes to invite all those who find themselves in Salt Lake City to lay a white flower at the statue's base.
The address of the City Cemetery is:
City Cemetery
200 "N" Street
Salt Lake City, Utah 84103
Please send flowers to the attention of the City Sexton.
Table of Contents
Book Cover:
Richard Paul Evans, Christmas01 - The Christmas Box
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