It's a miracle! The spirit of Christmas has captured me. Against great odds, it zoomed down the slow lane into the heart of this self-described Christmas curmudgeon.
The Christmas miracle was not on
34th Street. (I've always believed in Santa.) It shone in the eyes of a young, once athletic man now in the grip of ALS. The spark, nothing more than off-key, raggedy renditions of Christmas songs sung in his living room
by a few old laidies.
A child whose raising often led me to wonder if either of us would surive till his 21st year, prepares a joyous Christmas homecoming for his children and grandchildren. A sweet and loving patriarch of his
own little clan.
My mother, her life warped by torment of which I knew nothing while she lived. Her Christmas table, always beautiful, truly an elegant feast offered her love the only way she knew
how. Lo, these many years and I understand. Miraculously I understand!