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Painfully, she turned to her side a nd extended her hand to me.

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I walked to her side and took it gently in mine.

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Waves audio crack. 'How do you feel, Mary?'

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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.

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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. Adobe acrobat pro dc 2019.021 20061 crack. 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 m akes mention, was destroyed in 1984 by the great floods that cam e t hrough 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.

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The author wishes to invite all t hose who find themselves in Salt Lake City to lay a white flower at th e s tatue's base.

The address of the City Cemetery i s: City Cemetery

quot;N' Street

Salt Lake City, Utah 84103

Please send flowers to the attention of the City Sexton.

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