The Christmas Wish

Dear Caleb or Claire,

As I hurried through the store the other day, angelic music filled my ears. Twinkling lights danced around me. The aromas of pine, baked apples and cinnamon filled my nose. Yes, it’s Christmas again. Suddenly, I was brought out of my pleasant daydream by the sounds of a small boy pleading to his mother, “Mommy! Mommy!, ” waving his pudgy hand to hail her attention, “Please, Mommy, I want the Rudolph!” “No, son. Not today,” his mother hushed, blushing, as a crowd of onlookers turned toward the high-pitched voice of her son. His broken little heart glowed through his furrowed eyebrows and downward turned lips. My gaze held steadfast to this small boy. Tears began to well and that familiar sting took over my eyes and nose as I choked my sorrow down. How silly to fret over this boy’s misfortune of a left-behind Rudolph. Hardly. It was his miniature voice, those pudgy fingers, his wide eyes of excitement as Rudolph’s nose hypnotized him that reminded me, once again, it’s another Christmas without you; another Christmas I won’t get to hear the squeals of joy as you rip into presents; another Christmas I won’t get to hang “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament on the tree.

My heart aches for the Christmas I help your hands mold homemade cookies; your grandparents and great grandparents give you mounds of clothes you’ll instinctively hate; you throw snowballs at your Dad; you wrap up a plaster imprint of your hand and proudly present your art to your Dad and me. Yes, I even ache for the Christmas you pound on your toys so loudly my head throbs.

I’ve heard many Mothers complain about their pregnancies — swollen feet and ankles, back aches, head aches, stretch marks, and weight gain. Oddly sounding, I want more than anything for my feet to swell so badly, I can only wear slippers; my back to ache from you pulling on my spine; my head to throb from the flood of pregnancy hormones; my skin to stretch so taunt it leaves scars; even to gain those extra pounds. All these things will only remind me of how hard I’ve worked and how much you were wanted. My outside appearance may look haggard from pregnancy, but, as of now, my insides shrivel, necrose, and die because I can’t do what so many women take for granted — become pregnant.

Until my Lord blesses your father and I with you, I patiently wait. I wait and plan. I’ll continue to drop to my knees and pray every day. I’ll continue to soak my pillow with tears. I’ll continue to do whatever is in my power to bring you to us. My angel, if you only knew of the sorrows, broken hearts, never ending stream of tears that flows for you…. I don’t understand why I’ve been chosen to wait, want, and desire so deeply. Please know, when you’re mature enough to read this, your Father and I wanted you and needed you as much as the air we breathe. I may not be the perfect Mom, but am a Mom who will never forget the struggles and pain to bring you to me. Please, when you think I’m too hard on you, or even when you don’t get what you really want for Christmas, remember this letter — read it and feel my heart on it.

My Christmas wish? You. Only you, my precious angel-in-waiting, are my wish.

All my love,

(c) Sheila Canada All Rights Reserved

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