Magical Moments

Author’s Note:  I wrote this nearly 20 years ago to the day, inspired by my son to do so.  I think of it as a love letter to my son.  I never showed it to him or anyone until the day he left for college.  I realized that since I wrote this for him that I’d better give it to him so I put it an envelope and tucked it away with his things for college.  After getting him all moved into his dorm, I told him I had left a letter in an envelope for him and to wait to read it ‘till after I had left.  I later had it “published,” anonymously, in my town’s monthly magazine and 2 other towns that had similar monthly magazine.  The editor told me that she had been moved to tears when she read my work and she urged me to put my name to it.  I’m not sure why I didn’t.  At any rate, if you are a parent I think that this will resonate with you.  I have also written a story for my youngest son but it still needs tweaking.  I hope you enjoy this.  Please post a comment to let me know! 

“The love between a mother and child knows no bounds.”   

We’re laughing as we hurry up the front porch steps and into the kitchen filling it with the scents of cold, crisp, smoky air.  These traces of winter will soon give way to the aroma of freshly baked cookies.  Chocolate chip, butterscotch and oatmeal.  I rush over to the stove, turning on the oven and he hangs up his coat on the lower hook in the corner of the kitchen by the door.  We sit down at the kitchen table to catch our breath.  It’s not that we’re in a hurry, but rather, filled with excitement and anticipation and anxious to began the next part of our annual tradition on this Christmas Eve night; the baking of Christmas cookies for Santa.  I secretly think of it as the making of magical moments for my son and me. 

Our cookies won’t be the fancy holiday kind baked in anticipation of seasonal guests.  In fact, these cookies aren’t fancy at all and so rarely does anyone ever visit.  These are special cookies nonetheless, baked with much love and care for someone who we know will be making a stop at our home on a very busy and magical night.  

Having just come from the candle light service at church, the first part of our tradition, the tune of Silent Night is still in our heads and we find ourselves singing it out loud together.  I turn on the Christmas lights on the tree and the star, blinking a silent code-like rhythm above us like a beacon, is lighting up candy canes, wooden horses, glass ornaments and homemade snowflakes all strategically placed by 5-year old hands on the lower branches of the tree.  The TV is on in the living room but we don’t hear it as we go about our work in the kitchen.  We’re singing Christmas carols and we giggle as we sing a little off key.  I make up the words here and there when I’ve forgotten them.  As I tell my son that these are  made up words now and that I promise to find out the actual correct words, he looks up at me through deep blue eyes that were his great grandfather’s.  Eyes that, only moments ago, were beaming with excitement, are piercing now and puzzled.  How could it be that I don’t know the words when he’s always believed that I know everything?  Slowly, he’s catching on to me and I tell that there are a few things that I don’t know after all!  He smiles when I tell him this.  His love for me is as pure and unconditional as mine is for him; as only there can be between a mother and a child.  I give him a wink as our eyes meet and his face lights up the room.  This signal we share; unspoken yet just as loud and urgent as the church bells that beckon to me on Sunday mornings, strengthens the bond between us in a way that words, so inadequate and limiting, never could.  A wink; so simple yet significant.  So fleeting!  I savor this moment, already now a memory.  I cherish this night, so magical in so many ways. 

Three cookies and a carrot sit, lovingly arranged by my son, on a saucer on the hearth alongside a cold glass of milk.  I put two of the cookies back and take several bites out of the third before placing it back on the saucer and I drink three quarters of the milk.  I break off a large piece of the carrot and put it away in the fridge.  I nibble around the remaining end of the carrot and place it on the saucer with the cookie.   

It is well after midnight now as I tip toe up the stairs and look in on my son on my way to bed, as I’ve done every night for the past 5 ½ years.  As he lay there sleeping, looking so precious and small in his big bed, I listen to him breathing and I already know how truly blessed I am.  I can’t help but wonder how many more magical moments we’ll share.  I know eventually that he’ll prefer the company of his friends rather than the company of his mother, as well he should.  I press me lips gently to his forehead, so cool and smooth, and as I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of his hair I say a prayer thanking God for my son and entrusting me with his childhood.  I pray for patience, guidance and wisdom in the years ahead and I pray for the strength to let him go when the time comes.  And finally, I pray that he’ll remember our moments together even long after I’m a memory, and that perhaps he’ll be inspired to make magical moments with his own child someday.  But for now, the timer on the coffee pot is set for 6:00 AM and as I climb into bed, I’m looking forward to more magical moments in the morning.