by Linda Lufkin

The love that filled my heart as I watched my husband holding our newborn son was beyond description. We marveled at his angelic little features and wisps of platinum blond hair. As we shared that moment, an image was etched on my mind that would later become a precious memory. Kevin would only be with us for a few days.

Many years went by and I often grieved for my little boy over what could have been. I thought about the pleasures of life he would miss out on, especially the joyous Christmas season. I thought about how he couldn’t see the gentle drift of snowflakes leisurely fall and delicately adorn the trees with white splendor, or hear the ringing of sleigh bells mingled with children’s laughter. Nor could he play in the snow and build a carrot-nose snowman or roll up a snowball and chase after his dad, laughing over the adventure. He couldn’t make an angel in the snow. And he would never have the Christmas story read to him while snuggling by the wood stove on a blustery winter night.

One day I decided to write this story in the form of a letter as a way of handling my grief.

My dear Kevin,

It breaks my heart that you weren’t here as a little boy to share holidays with your family. If I could celebrate Christmas with you, we’d decorate the tree with stringed popcorn, paper garland, and lots of tinsel. Brightly colored bulbs would be delicately placed on branches by your tiny hands.

“Can I put the star on top?” you’d ask. Dad would lift you high enough to reach the top and your eyes would sparkle from the light of the star and brighten my heart. I know you’d giggle with delight over your accomplishment. Then we’d hang stockings full of treasures that you couldn’t wait to see, and I’d give in and let you peek inside.

Later that evening, we’d go Christmas caroling with all the children in the neighborhood. I’d look down at your silhouette in the dark and watch you sing with glee. I’d think I saw you shiver and I’d hold you close to me, protecting you from the cold. You’d break free and follow the children to the neighbor’s house for gingerbread cookies. I’d admire your independence, but not want to let you go.

Christmas Eve would bring the family together and gather them around the tree where we’d share a present in celebration of Jesus’ birth.

You would sit quietly as Dad read a Christmas story from the Bible: “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you, who is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign for you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger” (Luke 2:11-12 NIV).

With a childish curiosity, you would break in, “What is a manger?”

“A manger is where they keep farm animals,” I’d explain.

“Why was Jesus born in a manger with all the animals?” you’d frown.

“Because He loved you and everyone in the world so much that he gave up His comfortable home in heaven to come to earth to be our Savior.”

Somehow you’d understand.

Christmas morning would come and you would already be waiting impatiently at the Christmas tree. “Can I open my gifts? Hurry Mommy and Daddy!” And you’d jump up and down, clapping with excitement. I’d smile and hand you a special gift I lovingly selected especially for you. You’d squeal with delight, “Thank you, it was just what I wanted.” You’d run over to give us a big hug, and my heart would melt as I’d watched you admire your new train set. Then we’d take pictures and videos of you opening gifts with your brother and sister so that we’d capture every precious minute.

The sound of music would fill the house with the rhythm of “Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the way.” And we’d laugh and sing and be lost in the excitement of the moment. “Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh.”

The words would entice you. “Let’s go for a sleigh ride later, Mommy,” you’d beg with a blue puppy-eyed look. How could I resist? I’d go to the North Pole if you asked.

After Christmas dinner, we’d dress you in your snowsuit and head outside into the crisp air. The clear sky would promise a wonderful late afternoon with a light accumulation of snow. We’d reach our promised destination and be in awe at the sights and sounds of Christmas. The storybook scene of glistening snow, the sounds of sleigh bells, and beautiful horses pulling sleighs would make quite an impression. Oh what fun!

How excited you would be to climb upon the sleigh with your brother and sister and look out at the majestic brilliance of the surrounding forest. I’d notice your blond hair hanging out of your red hat and glimpse at your smile as you’d gaze at your newfound world. I’d capture the moment and keep it tucked away in my memory.

The horses would gather momentum as the sleigh glides flawlessly over the freshly fallen snow. Sleigh bells ring and ting-a-ling.

Our ride would take us to an old log cabin for a warm up by the fireplace and some hot chocolate. The player piano would appeal to our senses with beautiful Christmas tunes of old time melodies.

As we’d head back, you would shiver so slightly, but this time I’d know you were cold. You’d snuggle next to me and whisper, “That was so much fun.” I’d hug you tightly to my side, “I’m so glad. I’ll remember this day forever.”

Soon after, darkness would glimmer with Christmas lights spread glamorously around the area. We’d spot a deer and admire its grace and beauty. With a spring in its step, it would move away with ease. You would chant, “Reindeer, reindeer.” And we’d share in this wide-eyed wonder as the deer prances into the woods. The multicolored lights on the trees surrounding its departure would twinkle with an unmistakable glow from heaven.

Your attention would be shifted as you’d gaze upward, “Look, a star!” It would shine so brightly as to illuminate the whole sky. “Is that the star leading to baby Jesus?” It’s amazing that you’d remember that part of the story, We’d look up and unite in the wonder of the moment.

“This was the best Christmas,” you would say. And your dreamy eyes would tell us that the day would have to end.

Dad would carry our sleepy boy into the house while quietly singing, “Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”

I’d kiss your cherub cheek and whisper, “Goodnight, my Christmas angel. I love you.”

And this moment would forever be etched in my heart. It would become a precious memory of the time spent with my Christmas angel–just the way I’d imagine it would be.

In loving memory of Kevin
June 26,1977-June 28,1977

Have you experienced the loss of a child? For help, visit Silent Grief, a support site for those who have experienced miscarriage and later child loss.

Prayer for Healing:

Dear Lord,

Thank you, Lord, that you are a God who hears and answers prayer. Thank you, too, that you are near to the brokenhearted. I don’t understand, Lord, but I trust you to accomplish your purposes in and through me. You promise in your Word that you will draw near to those who draw near to You. Lord, I come in need of your comfort and healing. Comfort me with your presence, Lord. Wrap me in your arms of love. Thank you, Lord, that your mercies are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness. I ask these things in Jesus’ name. Amen.

©2006 Linda Lufkin. All rights reserved. Used by permission.