By Gemma Evans
There is something truly magical about young children and Christmas. For my youngest son, Konnor, last year became the year that the magic overtook him. We had struggled most of 2020 like most of the world but right before Christmas we came into a little bit of money that had been owed to us.
For the first time since I had lost Konnor’s father in 2015, I got a little more into the holiday spirit than I normally did. My husband bought me a white Christmas tree with pink ornaments, something I have always wanted but had never had before.
Every year we get two special ornaments for Konnor’s father, Kevin. Always some kind of pickup truck and angel wings. On Christmas Eve we hang Kevin’s ornaments so he can be with us for Christmas. For whatever reason everything was just right about last year.
Snow covered the ground, not a lot but enough that Konnor’s had made a small snowman and snow angels earlier in the day. As we hung Kevin’s ornaments my little 6-year-old grabbed me by the middle and said, “Do you think Daddy Kevin would like them?”
Tearfully, I nodded and squeezed him back. “He’d love them because you picked them out.” I wiped my eyes and directed Konnor into the kitchen where we made hot chocolate and cookies for Santa. We made reindeer bait then went outside to sprinkle the snow with the tasty mix and attract Santa’s flying reindeer to our yard. We then went back inside and watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas. One of my late husband’s favorite Christmas movies.
My husband, Jeremy, quietly snuck out of the house and went all around making hoof prints in the snow with a wrapping paper tube with the end slightly bent to make a u-looking shape and stomped around in his big boots.
Jeremy quietly entered the back door before the movie ended. As the credits rolled, the sound of sleigh bells filled the house, thanks to a nifty little app on the phone in Jeremy’s pocket. Konnor jumped up, the huge smile on his face more than anyone in the world could resist. Almost like Will Ferrell in ‘Elf’ he started jumping up and down screaming, “Santa!”
Thankfully, his boots were still on his feet, as his jacket lay forgotten in his haste to get out the front door. The bright porch light illuminated a few feet of the snow-covered ground.
“Mom! Mom, the reindeer were here!” The excitement in his voice loud enough for the whole the neighborhood to hear. But the best part was how his face suddenly dropped into a big O. “That means Santa’s here!” His little body hummed with excitement.
“You better hurry and get to bed or he won’t’ leave you presents,” Jeremy said.
I’ve never seen Konnor move so fast in all his six little years before he opened the front door, he looked up into the night sky. “Look Mom!” He yelled. “I saw Santa! He’s right there!” He jumped up and down as he pointed to the moonlit sky.
Jeremy had long since turned his app off but far away came the jingle of bells and for just a moment I could see something flying in the sky. That Christmas my little boy’s belief in the legend that in some shape or form we’ve all grown up with, encircled me just enough for that Christmas magic to allow me to see the simmer and believe in the stories of old.
For that small moment in time every single thing was right with the world, there was no pandemic, no sadness just the magic and warmth of Christmas that I hadn’t felt in years.
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