Do you remember that song from the musical Miss Saigon? Everyone has a movie in her mind.Maybe he has, too. More than one. Or maybe one puts all the scenes together and they run as one is dying. I have read that one’s entire life flashes by in the moments before death. How do we know? I’m going too far with this; I just want to review a few flashbacks, with sound bites as well, that soar in as Christmas approaches.
Dear little Liz was so polite and precise. When it was her turn to sit on Santa’s, lap, it was clear to her that she shouldn’t ask for too much. I heard her say in her soft little voice, “I really need a lot of Scotch tape - and whatever else you can manage to give.” Santa didn’t understand her, but I did.
I can still hear the jagged sigh that then-four-year-old Kate emitted as I turned out her light at bedtime, about a week before the Big Day. She could hardly contain herself for excitement, didn’t, in fact. The happy tension and tense happiness all streamed out in one long, glorious breath.
I had the politically correct thought that every boy should have a doll. I found a Raggedy Andy that we placed in the seat of a pedal car for John. He never saw the doll at all. He headed for the car, snatched up whatever it was in the seat and tossed it aside as he climbed into his very own vehicle.
Matt lived every moment of his challenged life. On New Year’s Day, we put Christmas away while he had his afternoon nap. When he got up, he looked around the living room and asked, “Where did Christmas go?’
I guess we all ask that, sooner or later.