Christmas music on the radio did nothing to lift my mood.
How many Christmas cards did I have to finish? The stack seemed huge. Once that was done I had to start the baking. I had gifts to buy, presents to wrap, decorating to do.
Why can’t Christmas be like it was when I was little, I thought, taking my pen to another card.
The only job my sister and I had for the holidays growing up was to wait impatiently for Christmas morning to come. Us kids never gave a thought to how it got done: Christmas just happened all on its own. As an adult I realized all the work my mom put in while also taking care of us and running her childcare business.
Mother had been on my mind constantly this holiday season, the first since her death. She would understand how overwhelmed I felt. I scratched my name on another card, not bothering with the careful script I normally used. The card was for an old friend. Was he at the same address? Doffy Falk would know. I’ll call her and make sure.
I hadn’t spoken to Doffy in years, but it seemed natural her name would come to me now. She’d been a good friend of mother’s. I hadn’t known how good until I’d grown up. That’s when Mother told me how Doffy had come to her rescue when she was at her lowest.
“I was just completely worn down one day,” she’d told me one afternoon over coffee. “Your father and I were having disagreements, money was tight—this was before I had my childcare business. I was cleaning the bathroom sink, tears dripping into the basin. I felt completely over-whelmed. And then came a knock on the door. There was Doffy saying God had sent her to come help me!
“She stayed the whole day,” Mother said, “listening to me pour out my troubles. I believed she really was an angel sent from heaven. How else to explain her perfect timing?”
Mother’s story about Doffy seemed like proof that God saw our sorrows and reached out when we needed him. Too bad God can’t help with Christmas preparations, I thought as I flipped open my address book for Doffy’s number.
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