The Christmas Visitor

“I need a Christmas miracle…that’s what I need.” The words jumped out of my mouth before I could control their outcome.

“And what would a Christmas miracle mean to you?” A gruff reply shattered the awkward silence with a question I had not yet contemplated. What would it mean to me?

“Sorry to bother you.” I pleaded for forgiveness.

“Miracles are never a bother.” He chuckled. “I hope you enjoy the one on its way to you.”

“Mom.” Alexander strode into the kitchen interrupting my conversation. He had on his father’s slippers and as his tiny feet slid against the wood floors, it felt as thought someone was raking their nails over a blackboard. “Did you get Santa on the line? He reached for the phone.

“Yes.” I relented. “Here he is.” I handed the phone to Alexander and pulled the stool up to the kitchen counter. I gingerly picked him and placed him the stool and kissed the top of his head. He covered the receiver of the phone and looked up at me with the eyes of a wise old man. “Mom, I wish to speak to Santa in private.” It was more of a command than a request, so I silently crept out of the kitchen intending to hide behind the kitchen door and gleam a sense of what Santa should bring down the chimney. I just placed myself in the perfect position to hear his long list of impossibilities when the door bell rang.

As I peered through the peephole at the unexpected intruder, I felt my stomach slightly heave. She was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, with fiery red hair and porcelain skin. I hesitated, yet found myself opening the door before I realized that was what I had done.

“Hello.” Her voice was timid.

“May I help you?” I asked while still straining to eavesdrop on the kitchen conversation.

“Are you Angela Reagan? She did not look at me.

“Yes. I am.”

“May I come in?” She inquired with a hint of reservation in her voice.

She seemed so unassuming that I backed out of the doorway and motioned her in. I had never before opened my home to someone I did not know before, but something beyond common sense compelled me.

As we walked into the living room, she sat down across from me on the love seat. “My name is Rachel O’Bryan and I have always wanted to meet you.”

How do your reply to such an unexpected statement?

“Do I know you?” The tone of my voice cut into the awkwardness of the moment.

“No.”She shook her head. “No. You do not know me.” She stood up. “Perhaps I should go.” She paused. “I am sorry to have bothered you at Christmas time.

She was at the door with her hand on the knob before I could respond. I stood up and walked towards her.

“Please, come and sit down. Shall I make us some tea…or coffee?”

“Tea would be fine.” She relented. I could see her hands were trembling. “Please sit back down and I will be back in a moment.

I tried to sneak into the kitchen, but Alexander sensed my presence immediately and covered the receiver once again. “Mom. You promised I could talk to Santa in private.” He was miffed.

“I am just going to put the tea kettle on and I will be out of your way.” I lit the gas burner and walked back into the living room.

“It will be just a minute.” I smiled. “My son is having a private conversation with Santa Claus.”’

“How old is he?”

“Nine.” I felt myself relax for a moment. “Nine going on sixty five. He is quite precocious.”

“Ah.” She smiled for the first time.

“This is going to be a difficult Christmas for us.” I heard myself speaking yet all the while I was questioning my motives. “My husband lost his job and we are at our wits end financially." Why was a telling this stranger about my life?”

“That must be difficult.”

“Yes. It is.”
“And your family?”

“My mother and father passed away several years ago.” My voice became strained and I found myself holding back tears.

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I scanned the room for the nearest box of Kleenex.

“I have brought you a present.” She announced. “I hope it will lift your spirits.”

“A present.” I paused in disbelief. “I do not even know you.”

She stood up and walked to the door. As she neared her exit, she reached in her purse, pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to me. Before I knew what was happening, she moved towards me and kissed me on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas.” She touched my cheek. “Always remember you are loved.”

Before I could understand what was happening, she was gone. Trembling, I stood in the doorway and opened up the envelope. Inside were two pieces of paper. One fell onto the floor and the other laid opened in my hands.

Child,
On Christmas Eve 1968, I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. At the time I did not have the means to provide for her. Now, I do. I wish you the merriest Christmas ever.
All my love, Mom

I stood transfixed, my life streaming before me, my heart pounding. I wanted to run and find her and at the same time, I could not move. In a stupor, I bent down to the other piece of paper on the floor and picked it up.

As I was reading it, Alexander ran into the room and grabbed me around the waist.

“Mom….. Santa said to tell you he hopes you enjoy your Christmas miracle.”

My body trembling, I glanced at the check for one million dollars that lay in my hands.

The shock of the circumstances was overwhelming. It would be the greatest birthday and Christmas of all.