Dalva Agne Lynch
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A CHRISTMAS REMEMBERED
©Dalva Agne Lynch
It was December, 1981. We were waiting for our New York apartment to empty from its former occupants so we parked our travel trailer in an old folks house-trailer´s community in New Jersey and were living in it as we waited. The picture above was taken during that time.
On the week before Christmas, the snow had covered the ground and frozen the bridges, so my husband was caught in Manhattan for days and I was all alone with David, almost three, and Joe, almost two.
On the morning before Christmas, as I opened the door to check on the temperature, I stumbled upon a wicker basket standing on my doorstep. It had a big red bow on the handle and was covered with a bright Christmas dishtowel. I picked it up and uncovered it. Inside, there was two small boxes of crayons, two little pads of drawing paper, playdoh, a couple of matchbox cars, homemade Christmas cookies, sweets and a note: “Merry Christmas to you and your little boys. God bless!” No signature.
I looked around at all the pretty house-trailers with their tiny little gardens where the old ladies and couples were living their retirement days, the big expanse of snow-covered fields all around, the frozen lake beyond… and wept. Some sweet old lady had baked those cookies, packed that basket and delivered it to my door – out of pure love.
I didn´t know who it was so I went back inside and wrote 26 identical notes: “To the beautiful soul who came to us bringing gifts like the three wise men of old, we thank you. May the Lord bless you – I´ll never forget your love!” In the meantime, the boys drew little pictures on their brand-new drawing papers. Then we folded them together and went to the community´s mailbox, sticking a note and a drawing in each one of the 26 little boxes.
We left the trailer park on the day before the New Year, and I never discovered who had given us that gift. But I´ve never forgotten that lonely basket in the snow-covered ground, when my boys were small and we didn´t know yet of all the pain and sorrow that awaited us. In the years that followed, when life seemed unbearable, I remembered many times that basket –that no matter how lonely or cold or abandoned I was, there´d always be hands of love who´d facelessly reach out and rekindle my hope.
Today, with all of my children healthy and happy, all of my grandchildren growing in love and care, that basket still stands like a bright reminder of kindness and love, and I thank you, wonderful nameless soul, for that beautiful long-lasting gift!
©Dalva Agne Lynch
It was December, 1981. We were waiting for our New York apartment to empty from its former occupants so we parked our travel trailer in an old folks house-trailer´s community in New Jersey and were living in it as we waited. The picture above was taken during that time.
On the week before Christmas, the snow had covered the ground and frozen the bridges, so my husband was caught in Manhattan for days and I was all alone with David, almost three, and Joe, almost two.
On the morning before Christmas, as I opened the door to check on the temperature, I stumbled upon a wicker basket standing on my doorstep. It had a big red bow on the handle and was covered with a bright Christmas dishtowel. I picked it up and uncovered it. Inside, there was two small boxes of crayons, two little pads of drawing paper, playdoh, a couple of matchbox cars, homemade Christmas cookies, sweets and a note: “Merry Christmas to you and your little boys. God bless!” No signature.
I looked around at all the pretty house-trailers with their tiny little gardens where the old ladies and couples were living their retirement days, the big expanse of snow-covered fields all around, the frozen lake beyond… and wept. Some sweet old lady had baked those cookies, packed that basket and delivered it to my door – out of pure love.
I didn´t know who it was so I went back inside and wrote 26 identical notes: “To the beautiful soul who came to us bringing gifts like the three wise men of old, we thank you. May the Lord bless you – I´ll never forget your love!” In the meantime, the boys drew little pictures on their brand-new drawing papers. Then we folded them together and went to the community´s mailbox, sticking a note and a drawing in each one of the 26 little boxes.
We left the trailer park on the day before the New Year, and I never discovered who had given us that gift. But I´ve never forgotten that lonely basket in the snow-covered ground, when my boys were small and we didn´t know yet of all the pain and sorrow that awaited us. In the years that followed, when life seemed unbearable, I remembered many times that basket –that no matter how lonely or cold or abandoned I was, there´d always be hands of love who´d facelessly reach out and rekindle my hope.
Today, with all of my children healthy and happy, all of my grandchildren growing in love and care, that basket still stands like a bright reminder of kindness and love, and I thank you, wonderful nameless soul, for that beautiful long-lasting gift!
Dalva Agne Lynch
Enviado por Dalva Agne Lynch em 24/12/2014
Alterado em 24/12/2014
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Você não pode copiar, exibir, distribuir, executar, criar obras derivadas nem fazer uso comercial desta obra sem a devida permissão do autor.
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