A Christmas Miracle

The snow used to dance as it fell to the ground; it now pelts with fury towards the earth. The fire used to glow with warmth; its flames now rage with anger. The old life I lived with my father was magical; I now live with my mother, wishing time would reverse. I wish I would never see another Christmas tree again. Every second I spend without him is useless. I wish I could go back a year ago and stop that Christmas tree from falling on him. I know death by a Christmas tree is not the hardest way to see someone die. I have to admit when I saw the Christmas tree falling, I just stood still. Then, when the Christmas tree landed on my father, I started to laugh. Then I saw he wasn’t breathing, and I started to cry. I know that nothing will change, and that’s the worst part: I have to keep living.

His name was Andrew. The man who changed my life. My father. He married my mother Alexandria. They adopted me, Amanda. My father said he loved me; he took me to the woods and showed me all of the beautiful creatures that roam the earth. He held my hand tightly and said he would never lose me, but I lost him.

From inside my warm, comforting house, I watch the soft glow of streetlights flicker in the evening. I hear the whistling wind swirl through the bare trees. The dark clouds overhead let no light through.

It’s Christmas Eve, I think. I really don’t want to deal with decorating. I don’t want to hang wreaths or string garlands across the mantle. I hate cheery Christmas songs, and worst of all, I hate Christmas trees. “I really hate Christmas,” I said aloud, almost in a scream. My mother came rushing into the room, glove in hand and hat on head.

“Are you ok?” My mother asks, panting hard. She had rushed into the room very fast because after something horrible happened to my dad, you can never be too careful.

“Fine, I just need to step outside for a minute. I feel sort of light-headed,” I say as casual as possible. If my mother could tell by the look in my eyes and the hesitation in my voice that I was lying, she would never let me outside. I wasn’t only going outside for just a minute. I had to run away. I grab my old, worn out satchel and head for the door.

¨Bye mom,” I say. I run up to her and give her one last hug. I won’t be seeing her again, but I can’t bear to hold on for a long time. I might get too sad.

¨I’ll see you later,” she responds. Actually you won’t, I think. I open the door to a face full of snow. The cold air blasts in my face and I start to regret leaving my nice warm house. I can’t look back, I tell myself. I run into the cold, wishing I had planned out my escape better. A single tear, wet and salty, falls down my face and freezes. I wipe it away and move on. The crunch of the snow beneath my feet keeps me in reality and reminds me where I’m headed: the woods. I know all of the plants and where to find shelter, thanks to my dad. I run and run until my legs can’t carry me anymore. I stop, panting hard, and sit against a tree. The bark of the tree rubs against my back and the smell of sweet, crisp pine drifts through the air as I rest. I look up and notice there is a twinkle in the sky. Light streams through the trees and onto the forest floor. I notice a single bright star shining in the sky and I think of all of the days my father and I used to gaze up at the stars. Suddenly, I remember that The Wise Men followed that one star to the stable where Jesus lay. I see a shinning, bright light appear and I think it is the star; it isn’t. It is a person. I stand up quickly, my breath hanging in the air. Some how, I feel as if the person has come for me. The glorious light fades down to only a glow and I feel humbled. The glowing person holds a candle and his face shines with a smile. He steps closer and closer, and for some reason I don’t run away. I feel myself walking toward him, my hand outstretched reaching towards the candlelight. He has the same dirty blond hair, and deep blue eyes. I notice he wears a cross necklace, the same one my dad did. I also recognize that smile from miles away.

I break into a run and call, “Dad! Dad! I missed you so much!”

“Me too, sweetie. Me too,” He says.

“How did you get here? Why are you here?” I ask my eyes filled with salty tears. Our hands meet and I wrap my arms around him, hoping to never let go. I feel comforted and loved again.

“It’s not important how I got here,” he responds. “It’s important why I’m here. Sit down and let me tell you.” I sit down in a patch of cold, packed down snow. The star above me still shines with glorious light, and I listen to my father tell me a story. “I come here today to tell you about that star. Christmas is hard for you, I have seen. I know you miss me, and I am very grateful. I know it hurts to be without me on Christmas, but think past Santa, Christmas cookies and Christmas trees. Christmas is more than that, it’s a time to celebrate Jesus’ birth. Know that I am with you every step of the journey of life. Let that wondrous star remind you even though my life may be over, you can still live your life celebrating Jesus’ birth. For me?”

“For you,” I say. I wipe the tears from my eyes and give my dad a long hug. I never want to let go, though I have to again. I stare up into his deep blue eyes for the last time and see a twinkle. He smiles with radiance and I break away from his loving arms. I step backwards and stare at the twinkling star in the sky. Then, I turn and run. The snow beneath my feet brushes against my skin. I dodge trees and fly past some plants. I am eager to get back home and tell mother all about father. I glance behind me, and see only an incandescent light glowing where he used to stand. The star above me guides me home and I reach the old wooden door. I push forward and it slowly creaks open. I step into the warm life filled house and instantly smell warm cinnamon rolls and cool, spicy eggnog.

“Honey, you’re home!” my mother exclaims.

“Yes, I’m sorry I ran off. I had some mixed feelings about Christmas,” I reply.

“What caused you to come home? I thought you had gone forever,” she said. I tell her the story of father as an angel and her face glows with delight. She starts to cry when I cry, and she hugs me over and over again. She knows how much I love her and father.

“We should celebrate then,” she exclaims while standing up. I start to dance to the songs she sings and the beautiful melodies fill the house. Happiness fills my heart and most of the sadness fades. I could never be happier in my life. I join in the songs and the spirit of Christmas drifts through the windows to spread to others. As I am dancing I see a shimmer and look out the window. The star of Christmas is shining brightly for all to see. I know nothing will change, but just seeing my father was all I needed to find myself and start living again.

“I guess this is the real meaning of Christmas,” I say with a smile. Nothing could be better and I know this was what my father meant. For the rest of my life for him. Always.

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