“This is the tree!” I loudly exclaimed. My oldest son Jared clapped. “Way to go, Mom!” my middle child said. Jeff was red nosed and smiling. “You sure can pick ‘em.” I laughed. Holly, my youngest, was quiet. “Honey, do you like this tree?” I asked her. At nine, I remembered how I felt at that tender age. Holly slowly grinned. “It’s beautiful.” she said. “That settles it, then. It is coming home with the Selt family.” I said. All of my kids agreed. It was a gorgeous tree. We loaded it into the back our pickup truck and headed home. We sang “Jingle Bells” all of the way home.
It was our first Christmas without Tim. My husband died in June, of cancer. He left us all well off financially, but we sure missed him. I was trying so hard to make this a fun holiday. I brushed all of the sadness away and I knew that Tim would want us all to be happy and to go on, hard as it was. My two oldest boys, they seemed to be adjusting pretty well. It was my youngest, Holly, that I worried about. She was the family Christmas child. Born on Christmas morning, the Christmas holiday was always centered around her. Last year, her father had snuck a fully decorated Christmas tree into her room, on Christmas eve, while we all were fast asleep. He set it up, blinking, twinkling lights, complete with presents underneath. She woke up that Christmas morning squealing with delight. It was a memorable Christmas morning, but the very last that Tim had to spend with us. I knew that this Christmas would be especially hard on Holly.
Jared, a burly sixteen and Jeff, twelve, helped me decorate the tree. The men of the house, they often tried to outdo one another, but it was all in fun. Holly watched and added her final Christmas tree decor. A fake holly wreath that wrapped around the tree. Jared picked her up and together, they decorated. I could not help remembering that Tim had held Holly to do this, last year. I know that all of us were thinking the same thing. I made hot chocolate and we enjoyed a fire in the fireplace and hung up our stockings. Then, Holly asked me where daddy’s stocking was. I almost burst into tears, but I somehow managed not to. I dug it out of the box and hung it. The boys did not say a word. We went to bed after Jared read us “The Night Before Christmas.” A tradition that Tim had started when the kids were younger.
Sometime in the early morning hours, I heard a strange cooing sound coming from downstairs. I thought that I imagined it. I went back to sleep. I awoke to hear it again and again, I dismissed it. I was sleeping pretty soundly when Holly shook me awake. “Santa came!” she said. I smiled, hugged her and said “Yes, baby, he did!” I had placed all the presents under the tree and the boys always went along with it, though they had stopped believing in Santa long ago. That didn’t matter, because Holly believed. Santa always lives in the hearts of believers. We raced downstairs and I expected Holly to go for her presents under the tree. She didn’t. She grabbed the stocking named “Daddy” and reached inside of it. I heard a soft cooing sound again. Holly’s hand withdrew a snow white turtle dove from the stocking. I gasped. It was alive. It’s shiny black eyes blinked at us. Holly held it gently and stroked it softly. It cooed. Holly was talking to it, saying merry Christmas. I was too shocked to say anything. “It’s from Daddy!” Holly said. I could do nothing but dumbly nod. Holly kissed the bird’s head and then asked me to kiss it. I did. I was shaking and trying hard not to show it. Holly smiled an angelic smile filled with peace. She walked to our front door and opened it. Then, she stepped out and sat the dove gently down on the front porch. We both watched as the dove turned to face us and it cooed softly.
“We love you dad and we miss you.” Holly softly said. The bird did a bit of a shuffling dance and cooed many times. Holly laughed. “Thanks, dad.” she said. “Merry Christmas. I will see you again.” The dove fluffed up it’s wings, then flew off. Holly turned to me, smiling. “I asked dad for a dove last Christmas. He told me to wait for this year.” I put my hands over my mouth. Then, Holly said “Dad made me promise to let the dove go, if he gave one to me.” I started crying. Holly ran to me and hugged me. “Don’t be sad, dad let me know that he will always be with us.” Indeed, he did. Holly told the story to her older brothers, when they got up. I nodded. I expected that they would not believe, but the look on their faces, when they saw mine, told the truth. We all believed. Tim had sent a Christmas miracle to Holly. All of our spirits were brighter after that. We still hang a stocking for Tim every year. It is family tradition. Merry Christmas!