I only have one item for you this week. It is my special Holiday story. I hope you get something from it.
******
A breeze plays gently with the red roses completely surrounding Angela's tombstone. No one admits to planting them. One day they weren't there, and on the 'morrow, the bushes had arrived, resplendent with their bounty. Angela's favorites. Red. The rose of love.
She hadn't wanted a headstone at all. No cross, no plaque, no marker of any kind. I couldn't do that to her. Angela deserved that and so much more.
Nine short months was all we had together. After being in remission for six years, the cancer came back and claimed her, leaving me alone, except for the memories. I still have those, so many good times mixed in with the pain of watching her struggle, pain that I felt, not the physical pain of course, but the anguish of knowing there was nothing I could do to help her.
The huge hewn log ranch house was a perfect back drop for Angela's grave. She had wanted to be buried here; she wanted to be able to watch her kids, the little ones, those stricken with the same disease she had struggled with. It was necessary for her to be here for them. Even now. From beyond the grave.
We had planned for this day to come soon after we had gotten married. The ranch house would do for the ranch boss' living quarters, and the ranch hands had a spacious bunk house, but the children needed their own building: a large one, one that had room for the medical staff as well as them. And the special part of all of this, at least for the children, and Angela and me, was a prized part of the barn that belonged to the kids. This was a horse ranch, but that would never do. The children needed ponies.
Today is Christmas Eve. The barn is bedecked with two trees, one at the front, sitting to the right of the door, and one in the back. All the pony stalls have fancy, edible decorations – can't have them getting sick from eating non-pony food – and there are name plates waiting for the lettering to magically arrive from the eager fingers of the children as they pick their own names for the young animals they will love at first sight.
This is what Angela wanted. This is her gift to these special children.
I walk through the halls of the children's quarters, feeling the same pain inside that I always do. Yet, I can't allow it to show, can I? Hope . . . hope is all some of these children have. For some of them, this will be their last Christmas. Life can be cruel and twisted. It's so hard to reconcile the reality of what is with what we wish things could be. It cuts like a knife. And it cuts deep within me.
Little Mary sits in her wheelchair, accompanied by other children and the medical staff, looking at the huge tree, so dazzling to the eye, all of them talking about their hopes and dreams. She is only six years old, yet she is one of the ones who will not be around this time next year. But her spirit has not diminished. There is a warmth and a glow in her eyes, a special contentment.
I pull up a chair and sit next to her and give her a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Are you excited about tomorrow, Mary?" I ask.
She looks up at me, the tiredness in her gaze so apparent. "Yes, sir, I am. Tomorrow is a special day. I know it. It will be the best day in my life."
So full of hope, even now, and yet…there is a genuineness I can't put my finger on. She has no family, is filled with pain, and she is happy. "Why is that, sweetie?"
Nestling next to me, she says, "Tomorrow I will receive special gifts. The best ones ever."
It breaks my heart to see her in the state she's in, but her warmth, the heat from her happy soul, makes up for it. "I don't know about the other gifts, but I do know of a special one for you, Mary. I know you will be happy."
She reaches over and gives me the best hug she can with the frail arms she has.
"Time for you to get some sleep for the big day tomorrow," one of the nurses says.
I give her another quick peck on her forehead and a wink. "Tomorrow will be your day, Mary. You're right."
Walking past Angela's grave, I come to an abrupt stop. The wind is howling across the Wyoming plains and it is cold, but there are even more roses than there were before. For the first time since Angela's death, I feel a tingle of excitement. Why, I don't know, but the sadness in my soul is tempered with a warmth, one I don't understand, and which I don't feel is right to feel, and yet I do.
Sleep does not come easy for me.
******
I dress as fast as I can, able to hear the children shouting out their happiness. I'm glad. The ranch hands, medical staff, and I all had a lot of fun picking out their presents. And soon, the trip to the barn will be made, that will make them even happier.
Excitement fills the hallways, but I don't see Mary. Is she still sleeping? Can't be. Not today. Not after what she told me last night.
Mary's room is filled with nurses and doctors when I arrive. She does not look well. Her eyes are small orbs lost within huge sockets, the flesh surrounding them dark and foreboding. Dr. King looks at me and shakes his head.
I have all I can do to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks.
She looks at me and a smile lights up her face. "Could you please carry me to the barn?" she says. "I had a dream the other night and I know what is waiting for me."
The doctor looks at me as if to say no, but he changes his mind. "Take her out, Mr. Anderson, but make sure she's wrapped up well."
"I'll bring out extra blankets, sir, " Peggy, the senior nurse in the room says.
I nod and pick her up as soon as she's properly dressed. At least Mary's happy, poor girl.
We enter the barn, and she tells me to stop at the stall with a brown filly lying in the hay. She has a gorgeous blaze on her nose and gives a slight whinny as we enter. She doesn't move as I sit down next to her with Mary in my arms.
Waiting until she is convinced that Mary is comfortable, Peggy gets up and goes outside the stall, closing it behind her. "Time to bring in the other children," she says.
I nod and settle back as Mary gently strokes the little foal. She couldn't be any happier.
"What should we name her?" I ask.
She is weakening rapidly, her breathing getting shallower, and she shakes as she says, "Angela. We will name her Angela."
My eyes about pop out of my head. Pure coincidence. Yet…
"My new Mommy's name," Mary says.
"New Mommy?"
"Yes. She will be here soon."
The day is a long one. Doctors and nurses visit all day. I know what's happening. Yet, as much as it tears me apart, I know what I have to do.
Darkness comes and I still hold onto my special little lady. Her strength reaches out to me; her warmth and love wrap around me. I should be numb from not having moved from my position all day, but I'm not.
All the other children have left the barn, and Mary and I are alone. The doctors have decided that Mary should receive her wish to remain in the barn overnight. The barn is heated and they have set up her IV. Around the clock, they come to check on her. Hoping beyond hope.
It is still Christmas Day, around 8:00 P.M., from what I can tell, when Mary's little face brightens up. "My Mommy will be here soon. I know it."
No, this can't be! I don't want to accept the truth.
The filly moves ever so slowly as something brushes against me and sits between us and the foal. Something special; something loving.
"Mommy, you're here."
"Yes, dear, I am, and I will never leave you."
Mary is lifted from my arms and placed into her Mommy's. I warmly gaze into the eyes of Angela, gone, but not gone, her spirit able to transcend all barriers.
"You will always be my Mommy?"
"Yes, my love, I will. And Bob will always be your Daddy, won't you, Bob?"
The tears fall down. There is no holding back now. "Yes, Angela. I will always love Mary and be her Daddy."
"See, Daddy? I told you this would be my best day ever."
We all hug, each of us not knowing who to embrace first.
For the longest time, a warmth surrounds me, one I know cannot last. I will hold on as long as I can. Maybe . . . just maybe.
Mary and Angela stand and hold hands. They reach down for mine, and we all leave the stall after petting the filly. Mary reaches into my pocket, grabs a red crayon, and writes Angela on the name plate.
"Perfect, sweetie," I say.
"Give us a head start to the door, Daddy, and come after us," Mary giggles.
I smile. "Okay."
By the time I reach the door, they are nowhere to be seen. I follow a trail of blankets; I know where it leads.
Two graves, two headstones, are side by side. As close as possible. The new grave has rose bushes surrounding it already. The full moon shines down on the headstones. Angela Anderson. Mary Anderson.
My girls are together. They are happy at long last.
******
This is my special Holiday story.
Love is always the most important part of any holiday, or any other day. Never forget that.
Thank you for reading this story.
******
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright 2020 by Blaze McRob. All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author directly. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
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