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January 11, 2001 - The Christmas Child
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
"A mother holds her childrens' hands for a while, but their hearts
forever."
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Today's story is one of those that is difficult to read without a box of Kleenex nearby, but you are different for having read it. This
story will stay with you, as will its second part, which will run on
Monday. Have a blessed weekend! (Writer of the Month will be
announced on Monday.)
THE CHRISTMAS CHILD
by Maria Harden
July 28, 1987 was a doubly special day. My nephew, Alex, was born then, as was my friend Cathy's daughter, Victoria. When the babies were about eight months old, we introduced them, and laughed as Alex tried to kiss Vicki, but ended up sucking her nose! Over the next few years, I shared growth progress reports about Alex, with Cathy, and about Vicki, with my sister. Watching these children grow from babies to toddlers was a joy. I became almost as close to Vicki as I was to Alex.
When she was about eighteen months old, Vicki was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer in the brain. The prognosis was grave. Over the next two years, treatments and medications were a regular part of her young life, and for a while it seemed as if she was getting better. She had lost her blonde hair in the chemotherapy, but her blue eyes never lost their mischievous sparkle. She seemed to have regained most of her strength and vitality, and although the doctors were cautiously optimistic, we rejoiced in the moment and were grateful for her continued presence in our lives. I knit her a soft, pink scarf and it became one of her favorite possessions. She wore it around her neck constantly, even indoors.
Cathy and her husband, Tim, had made their home into a child's
fantasy. In every room, bathroom included, were so many toys, that I often thought that more than one child could have lived there, with plenty to spare! Child size furniture was in Vicki's "playroom", along with children's posters, shelves of books, and a rocking chair for cuddles. They clearly doted on their precocious daughter.
Vicki got great pleasure out of ordering her dogs around (and the
dogs listened!). She always made me laugh with her chatter and quick comebacks. "I can't talk," she'd say, seriously, then followed this proclamation with a lengthy conversation. And could she talk! We used to joke that she would be a future talk show host.
When her cancer returned in full force, we were told that it was just a matter of time before this devastating disease would win the race of life. Cathy and Tim were heartbroken at the thought of losing their only child. As her illness progressed, Vicki weakened, and spent a lot of time watching Disney movies and placing stickers in her sticker books. She simply didn't have the energy to do much else. All anyone could do was to keep her as comfortable as possible. She didn't complain, as she had hardly known anything else in her life. One day she told Cathy that she didn't want to see Jesus. It was as if she knew that when she died, she would see Jesus, and Vicki didn't want to die. She was not even three -- too young to know the glories of seeing the Savior.
Christmas was Vicki's passion. A decorated artificial tree was in
her playroom year round, and Christmas carols were heard in the house at any time of the year. All this was evident at her third birthday party, when "Santa" came bearing gifts in July, the hottest month of the year. No matter. It was Vicki's last birthday, and her last Christmas.
Six months later, heaven acquired another angel when Vicki passed away peacefully. Cathy wept inconsolably. "I want my Vicki back. I want to be with my Vicki." Little did she know how these words would affect her future. No words of comfort could heal her broken heart. Although Cathy had always had a zest for life and a zany sense of humour, now there was a shadow of sorrow hovering over her, and she was forever changed. I fretted over the unfairness of life, and wished there were answers that would make sense. Rather than question the will of God, I tried to accept it, but that didn't make it any easier. Losing a child is something one never recovers from.
Every time I celebrate the birthday of my healthy and energetic
nephew, Alex, now an active teenager, I am reminded of what a
different path his life took, and I remember Vicki.
The memorial service was an uplifting tribute to the life of a sweet
earth angel that had ended too soon. Cathy had lovingly placed some of Vicki's favourite things in the tiny, white coffin. A favorite stuffed toy, a tiny purse with some money and credit cards, as she had loved to play "shopping", and the soft, pink scarf that I had
knit for her. How fitting that her favourite Christmas carol was
sung at the service, "Joy To the World," for Vicki did bring joy to
her world.
Maria Harden ©2001
mharden@escape.ca
Continued Monday in: Her Mother's Wish (Part 2)
Maria is a regular contributing writer for 2TheHeart and has a gift
for inspiring as well as bringing laughter with her writing. You can
find more of her stories in 2theheart and Funny Friday archives.
www.2theheart.com/archives
www.2theheart.com/funny_friday/
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The Letter Box:
Michael,
Great story about your dad and his "run in" with the nurse. It's
great that she scared him so much that he did the "Cold Turkey"
thing. My dad was a little more hard headed. When he was in the
hospital for colon cancer surgery, I went by to see him and as I
walked down the long hall toward his room, I heard him shout, "I said I don't want no fish and when I say I don't want no fish - by gosh, I don't want no fish!" (not exactly the words he used as his were a little more explicit & too strong for 2theheart) As I got closer to his room, the nurse came out with a tray of food and as she passed by me she said, "Well, I learned one thing. When Mr. Dishno says, 'He don't want no fish, by gosh, he don't want no fish!'" I went into his room and told him he sure scared that nurse. I said I couldn't understand why he didn't want fish after all the fish we had caught and eaten. He made some comment about hospital fish as opposed to our fresh trout and I left it at that. He never made it out of the hospital but I don't think they ever tried to feed him fish again. I'm sure I will catch up with him someday and we can eat some of those good trout. Love your story, keep them coming.
~Chuck Dishno
dishgov@mcn.net
Dear Mr. Segal,
I so enjoyed your previous story about your father the Rabbi, as I am Jewish, and I don't often get to read of people of my faith. I really got a kick out of his strong spirit in today's story and of the nurse who most likely saved his life! Your dad sounds like an interesting man!
~Janice B.
Dear Patty,
Wow, what a story! Thank God "Somebody's Son" is okay, and I know only too well how wonderful those firefighter heroes are. We have our local volunteer heroes to thank for saving our house this past Monday, the 7th of Jan.
A fire broke out in our used-to-be playroom on Monday afternoon. God was watching over us and our cat, BJ. I was sitting at my computer, which is on the table facing the closed door to the room where the fire broke out. Usually our beloved kitty is out there looking out the window...he would have been burned to death. Also, if this had happened at night, with hubby and me in bed, the smoke that filled the rest of the house so quickly would have probably killed us.
For now we are staying in the local Best Western Motel, and BJ is
staying in the smelly house.
Please say a few prayers for us, as we are still pretty upset. And
thank God for the firefighters, our daughter and her family, and our
neighbors...all who were Godsends.
This is poorly written, because I have to meet my husband now.
Love,
Pat Lowe
pawlowe@televar.net
*****Editor's Note: Everyone, please send loving emails and prayers Pat's way, as this experience has been so upsetting for her. Pat, we love you!
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