The Hidden Gift

 

It’s Christmas morning and since there are no children in the house this year (they arrive in a few days), I have some quiet time. This quiet time is perfect for writing a Christmas story from Christmas past.

Madelyn Louise Darley Manser is my mothers name. My niece has her middle name and our number 3 grand daughter has her first name. All 3 have deep loving hearts. My mom died in May of 2005 and I have missed her everyday since. In 2001 my husband retired from the Navy and we had decided a year before that we would build a house next door to my parents on a lot they gifted us.

My dad had purchased 3 adjoining lots (their house on the middle lot) when he retired so that one day one or more of us children would come home and roost. As he got older that plan became paramount to him as he wanted one of us close to be there for mom should anything happen to him. That “something” turned out to be a diagnosis of cancer in 2003. By then we had already been there for a couple years.

Living next door to your parents has its ups and downs but for the most part it was really nice. After years of military life and living in so many places (all of which were far from my parents), it was nice to be close. I learned a lot about my parents I never knew before and they about me. My mom for instance, I always knew she was a deep loving soul. She took very special consideration when it came to gift giving. Her joy came knowing her gifts were “just what you wanted”.

Our children were all grown by the time we moved there so our house and the contents reflected a lifestyle particular to us. Having lived all over the world our house displayed art from various Asia-pacific countries. My husbands vast shell collection was displayed in custom made teak cabinets purchased in Malaysia. I had a love of music boxes and at Christmas they all came out. My mom started giving me music figurines for birthdays and Christmas, each one being more elaborate and delicate. It was apparent from her face as I opened them she received much joy in the giving. She learned I had a love for decorating for Christmas, one of my favorites was setting up the Christmas Village my husband and children gave me.

Christmas was especially festive during those years. My dad loved Christmas and it showed in the care he took to decorate. He and I developed a tradition of shopping at midnight on Christmas Eve much to my mothers objections. Mom had been organist, pianist and choir director of every church in every location they lived. Those years she had reduced her activities to organist and pianist but Christmas was still very busy preparing for all the services and events at church. I sang in the choir so we shared in that.

Christmas of 2004 would be the last cantata she would play the organ. Following the news that dad was in remission, mom was diagnosed with cancer. She never complained and was determined to not be a burden. She told me “when I can not get up and make my own coffee, I’ll be ready to go”. There was a couple at church that were going to celebrate their 50th anniversary and asked mom to play and me to sing. That was in April of 2005. Three weeks later mom died. On Friday afternoon she couldn’t get up to make her own coffee and on Monday morning she went to heaven.

Dad couldn’t live without his beloved wife and three months later he went to join her in Heaven. Two funerals in 3 months and an estate to settle, personally for several months I couldn’t bear to see anything moved in the house. Eventually it had to be done. Clothes and furniture that were left were donated. I kept all moms figurines. In particular she had a ceramic pair of praying hands that are among my prized possessions.

I also kept several containers of their Christmas decorations. I pulled a few out that first year, but it wasn’t until 2009 when we were preparing to downsize and retire in Belize that I relocated a big trunk

of decorations to our daughters house for safe keeping. In 2010 I went to our daughters house for Christmas. We decided to break out some decorations from my parents collection. Buried in there was a square box and written on it was “For Cathy”. I had not seen it before. I figured it was part of the long standing joke that I had my name written on items I wanted when they passed.

As my daughter and I opened it we realized it was a gift. A gift that was probably ordered just after Christmas 2004, or at least within the first few months of 2005. Dad knew it was in there because it was his handwriting but never thought to tell me before he died in August. It would be 5 years before I would find it. It was a ceramic Christmas wreath. With in the wreath was a miniature Christmas village, that lit up under battery power and played Christmas music. I completely melted on the spot. At no time in my life have I ever been affected by a gift in that way. In part because it was the perfect gift, a combination of all the things I liked collecting, but mostly because I realized she never got to watch me open it and see the immense surprise and joy.

As in all good Christmas story endings, I have resolved this in my heart by the belief she saw it from heaven and probably said, “finally, I was beginning to think you would never find it” and turning to my dad probably said” why didn’t you tell her, no matter she’s found it now”.

Merry Christmas!