Angelic Surprise by Marie Gage
My younger sister, Patti, plopped herself down beside me, with her signature impish grin and a twinkle in her brown eyes. She held out a festively wrapped box and recited the phrase she always used when breaking the rules. “I’m the baby, gotta love me, don’t you wish there was more of me!”
“But we don’t give each other presents anymore,” I stammered.
“This is different … open it and you will understand,” she said with a nod in the direction of the present.
It was Christmas Eve of 1994. The Parker family was gathered at our home for the annual Christmas Eve celebration. With forty or more attendees the house was practically rocking with the energy of excited children and greetings from adults, many of whom we had not seen since last Christmas. Our family was too big to buy gifts for everyone. We each placed one gift, for a person of the same sex, into the communal pile to be distributed by Santa.
Patti had waited until Santa was finished distributing the communal gifts before presenting her special gift to me. Others began to realize something unusual was happening, and the room became uncharacteristically quiet.
As I sat there gazing at the contents of the box my mind drifted back to memories of Christmas the year I was only twelve. For some unknown reason, I had admired and coveted an ornament I’d seen in a Christmas catalogue. It was a blue angel, intended for the top of a Christmas tree. My parents could not imagine what a twelve-year-old girl was going to do with a Christmas angel and refused to buy it for me.
As children Patti and I were the youngest of the 5 Parker girls and always had a special bond. We were referred to as “the little kids” by our older siblings and were often left out of activities deemed “too mature” for our age. She was the imp who, with a mischievous glint in her eye, always tried to lead me astray. I was the sensible one, the one who always followed the rules.
Unlike everyone else, Patti understood my desire for this unusual gift. I wonder now if she somehow knew what the future would bring. I could still clearly see her ten-year-old face on that Christmas years ago, as she held out a similar box. It’s one of those life events that is carved into my memory when all other events of a similar time have faded. Just like today, she had withheld the gift until all the others were opened and then extracted the box from the nook into which she had tucked it. Her face glowed with anticipation of my reaction when I first saw that coveted angel. I can only hope I did not disappoint her as she watched me open the first of what would become an ongoing collection of Christmas ornaments.
I treasured the Blue Angel and tucked it away for nine years until I had my own Christmas tree, in my own home, to decorate. It was my favourite ornament — largely because of its connection to Patti. The Blue Angel witnessed the passing of each year of my married life. She bore witness to the birth and growth of my two children, the progression of my career, and so much more. But the chipped paint and cracks that now marred her surface were signs that time had not been kind to this angel. I knew her life had come to an end, but my sentimental attachment was so strong I could not part with her: especially not this year.
You see, six months ago my impish, life-loving baby sister had been diagnosed with a rare and quickly progressive islet cell tumour. Patti was divorced and asked me to go with her to the medical appointment to receive the test results. The news was devastating. There was no hope for recovery, at most she might survive for another two years. There are no words to describe the impact of receiving such news. Over the ensuing months, we cried together and strategized, trying to find ways to ensure that her sons would be supported after her death.
She prayed the doctor was wrong and agreed to treatment directed at lengthening, rather than saving her life. She reacted badly to every form of chemo the doctor tried. It became obvious that her time was even more limited than the hoped-for two years. Now, on this Christmas Eve, as she sat beside me she was bald and bloated yet somehow aglow as if lit from inside, with anticipation of my reaction to her gift.
When I opened the box I discovered a new tree-top angel. With my sister watching, I gently took this new angel from her container and, with tears rimming my eyes I removed the cherished but bedraggled, blue angel from the top of my tree. Then, with all the love in my heart, I gently put the new angel atop the tree. Patti whispered to me, “I couldn’t leave you knowing you would keep that ancient reminder on your tree forever after. Take good care of her, as I won’t be here to replace her the next time.”
We hugged and cried, on this our last Christmas before she was taken from me. Now, each Christmas, as I put up my tree and remove the angel from her box, I think of Patti and the generosity of heart and spirit that was her essence. And as I place it atop the tree I know in my heart that her impish spirit lives on.
Oh my, Marie…it is so real I thought I was there and filled with tears …beautiful writing of a life event that includes everything, everything significant in one story. Brilliant writing indeed…