A story that made me CRY...
As an only child, Christmas was a quiet affair when i was growing up. I vowed that some day I'd marry and have six children, and at Christmas my house would vibrate with energy and love.
I found the man who shared my dream, but we had not reckoned on the possibility of infertility. Undaunted, we applied for adoption and, within a year, he arrived.
We called him our Christmas Boy, because he came to us during that season of joy, when he was just six days old.
Then nature suprised us again. In rapid succession, we added two biological children to the family - not as many as we had hoped for, but compared with my quiet childhood, three made an entirely satisfactory crowd.
As our Christmas Boy grew, he made it clear that only he had the expertise to select and decorate the Christmas tree each year. He rushed the season, starting his gift list before, we'd even finishrd the Thanksgiving turkey. He pressed us into singing carols, our frog-like voices contrasting with his musical gift of perfect pitch. Each holiday he stirred us up, leading us through a round of merry chaos.
Our friends were right about adopted children not being the same. Through his own unique heredity, our Christmas Boy brought color into our lives with his irrepressible good cheer, his bossy wit. He made us look and behave better than we were.
Then, on his twenty-sixth birthday, he left us as unexpectedly as he had come. He was killed in a car accident on an icy Denver street, on his way home to his young wife and infant daughter. But first he had stopped by the family home to decorate our tree, a ritual he had never abandoned.
Unknown "☆Nini☆" Loving
- 16 years, 10 months, 3 days ago
