2015/2016
Vol. 11

The Christmas Angel

1988; Kinston, North Carolina, USA

Betsy, my mother, stared into the twinkling glass of the snow globe. Admiring the two girls rejoicing in the silvery, feathery snow, she longed for her only Christmas wish, which was snow. She hoped it would snow, but she realized it would require a tremendous miracle.

Her father, Wade Allen, also yearned for snow. Mom had an ordinary childhood other than watching her father. She remembered focusing on her father’s breathing motion anywhere and everywhere he would move, for he’d had several heart attacks previously in her childhood. But something extraordinary would occur on December 19, 1988.

Now it was the seventeenth of December, eight days until Christmas, and Betsy constantly gazed at the fuzzy television screen. She knew that it was going to be cool for Christmas, but not cold enough for the possibility of snow. She continually listened to the forecast.

She walked into the kitchen to find her father sitting at the table reading the newspaper. She knew talking to him would make her hopeful. He always had a small twinkle in his eye and a slight grin that comforted Betsy and signaled that everything would be okay.

Wade adored talking about his favorite time of the year, Christmas — especially since it was arriving quickly. He loved everything about the holiday, like watching Mom decorate the tree with strands of red and green twinkling lights, admiring the glossy, slick wrapping paper of the presents, and savoring the aroma of cherries and walnuts in his mom’s fruitcake cookies.

But that day Betsy felt like something was empty inside of Wade. She knew something was going to be wrong.

Her father took his last breath on December 18, 1988. The day was sluggish, and everyone was depressed. The furious rain pounded on Betsy’s window and reminded her of Wade’s voice. She’d loved it when her father had exclaimed, “I love you!” in a very scratchy, yet comforting, voice. Those three words were the difference between hope and succumbing.

Betsy also remembered how her father had spoiled her. She would write notes to her father if she badly desired a toy, and sneak into his bedroom at night to quietly place the note on his bathroom counter. When he read it, he would chuckle, and Betsy knew he would get the toy for her.

Betsy quickly fell asleep that night, listening to the rain and remembering the sentimental memories of her beloved father.

Mom awoke to her bedroom freezing cold. She strolled into the cozy den and sat. As she peered out the window, thinking of her father and her wish, she saw a single blur that seemed like a snowflake. She thought she was imagining it until it started showering snow! She could not believe her eyes. She thought of only one explanation of how it snowed.

She started sobbing. She knew that her father was creating snow for her to signal that everything would be okay and that he would always be watching over her. That day it snowed twelve inches, and that was the only white Christmas my mother has ever experienced!

Sara Waida; North Carolina, USA

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