One Last Wish
Our Christmas Miracle started early that year-in January, to be exact.
That was symbolic in many ways. The first of the year. A new beginning. A
starting-over place. Expectations, hopes, dreams, and goals. A perfect
time for miracles.
I've heard it said that there are no small miracles. And ours would not be
small. We would learn important lessons of life that would change us I
ways still hard for us to comprehend. We had struggled through so many
losses the previous year. The loss of our family business, personal
finances, our family home, and more important, our dreams. Yes that year
left us humble and meager, but the struggle made us stronger and wiser.
We were excited to start a New Year. Never had we possessed so little and
believed so much. Nineteen ninety-four. That was to be our year. A year of
rebuilding, healing, and recovery. However, nothing we dreamed of or
planned could have prepared us for the events that would soon take place.
It was cold and dark on that special night in January when my husband,
Cal, first heard it. We had just started a new business and Cal was
working alone in his back offices. He suddenly heard the voice of a small
girl calling out, "Daddy…Daddy…Daddy." Thinking that a little girl had
gotten lost, he searched the outside reception area, and even the parking
lot. Finding no one, he returned to his office to finish his work. Then he
heard the girl's voice again: "Daddy…Daddy…Daddy." Because he was alone in
the office, Cal tried to come up with a logical explanation. When he came
home that night, he told me about his experience. He seemed bewildered,
and yet neither of us could find any answers, and so with a family to care
for, we turned out attention to other responsibilities.
It was only a few days later on a peaceful, quiet afternoon at home when
she came. Cal was watching a sporting event on television downstairs; I
was upstairs trying to catch up on a project. I suddenly heard the sound
of Cal's footsteps running up the stairs and I could hear the heaviness of
his breath even before he found me. White as a sheet and shaking, he
reached out for me. His words tumbled over each other in his haste to tell
me what had happened. He had been sitting in his chair watching the game
on TV when he heard again the voice of a small girl calling out. It was a
clear voice, very close and soft. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.' Cal quickly
turned his head toward the voice and saw a small girl standing just a few
feet away from his chair, looking directly into his eyes. He jumped out of
the chair and turned again to find her gone. Then he ran up the stairs to
find me.
Now this was something we couldn't explain away or simply dismiss from our
minds. What could it mean? Why had this happened? Was God trying to tell
us something, and if so, what? Could this be our child? It didn't make any
sense. We had a total of eight children between us: four of them married,
a daughter at college, and three boys at home. After having three boys in
a row, could this be the daughter I had dreamed of and longed for? But why
now, so late in our lives? I couldn't fathom it and jokingly replied,
"Honey, maybe she meant to say 'Grandpa,' but it was too big a word for
such a little girl." Yet as I prayed that night, I asked for answers: Was
a daughter to come to our family? At our age? With eight other children?
What of our finances, or lack of them? An d then, as I had become
accustomed to doing, I concluded with a simple, "Thy will be done."
It came as no surprise when, a few weeks later; I found I was carrying a
baby. Knowing it was to be a girl, I rushed to the fabric store and came
home with arms full of pink fabric. I sewed blankets, dresses, comforters,
and crib sets, all in pink! I sewed my way through the summer and into
fall. Cal was working hard to develop his clientele for his new business
in addition to working as a sales manager for a dealership. By November,
he was feeling exhausted and I was very overdue. But as if the year had
not produced enough incredible experiences already, we were in for yet
another surprise.
Cal had been saying he had a stomachache for a few weeks. Because he
rarely complained, although he had experienced pain most of his life due
to a birth defect, I was concerned. I thought perhaps he had an ulcer from
all the stress of the past two years, and so he went in for some routine
test. Shortly after he returned from having some X- rays taken, his doctor
called us at home. "Mrs. Stewart," she said, "I need to see you and your
husband in my office in one hour." I was immediately overcome with a
feeling of despair.
The air in the doctor's office was thick and heavy. I was very
uncomfortable, being twenty-one days overdue, and Cal struggled quietly
with his own pain. The doctor's words came quickly and were straight to
the point: "Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, I am sorry to tell you that Cal has
cancer. It seems to have started in your esophagus, but it has spread to
your liver, stomach, and lymph nodes. It is terminal. I hope you will live
to see the birth of your child."
For a minute I thought I was losing my mind. I could hardly believe I had
heard the doctor say she hoped Cal would live to see the birth of his
child. Couldn't she see I was due to deliver at any moment? I felt my head
spinning as I tried to listen to what she was saying and keep myself from
crying. We stumbled from her office to the car. I don't know how we got
home. I do remember being at the foot of our bed that afternoon, holding
hands as Cal offered up to God the desires of his hear, asking for a
healing, a blessing. He cried. I had been with him for so many years,
decades, almost, and could only remember him crying two times before.
Over the next few days we went from doctor to doctor and tried to make
plans. Cal had decided he was not going to die from cancer. Other people
had survived such a thing, so why not Cal?
Just three days after his diagnosis, on November 19, our daughter was
born. Little Rebecca created quite a stir as she made her entrance into
the world that night. What a wonderful event it was! The room was full of
family, children, and friends. During the whole ordeal, I felt Cal at my
side, his arm around my shoulder and his hand on my arm. My support, my
strength, as he had always been. I didn't notice then how sick he had
become that day. And it wouldn't be until Christmas that he would tell me
about the other touching events of that evening. He said that he had felt
find during the whole night, until the moment Rebecca was born. As he
touched her little body as she lay on my chest and as he realized she was
all right, he began to feel himself slipping away. He struggled for a
chair and quietly fought the feeling of death that had overcome him at the
very moment life had entered his newborn baby.
In the wee hours of the morning, Cal, on bended knees, pleaded for his
life. Humbly and with faith, he begged for more time. Not for himself-he
now knew it was his time to go-but for his children, his wife. How could
he leave her on the night she had just given birth? Who would take care of
her, or the other children? "Please, please," he begged, "for my wife, my
children, please give me more time. Please just give me Christmas."
It was dawn before he struggled up from his knees and fell into bed. God
would grant him his last wish.
And so on Christmas we celebrated. We celebrated life, family, and the
blessings God had given us and especially His son, Jesus Christ. Family
and friends came from across the country to be with us on Cal's last
Christmas. It was a joyous time as we felt the love to so many around us.
And then Christmas was over-the carolers were gone from our doorstep,
family and friends returned to their homes, the tree and the lights were
taken down, and Cal's body ceased to struggle against the disease.
We slept with him in the hospital those last nights. Rebecca and I on a
cot by his bed; another daughter, Rachel, in a chair. The cancer had
spread to his brain, and he no longer could talk or see, or even stay
awake. But for two days I watched in awe as another miracle unfolded. As
each of his eight children came in to say good-bye to their father, their
hero, their friend. Cal would wake up, sit up in his bed, and listen to
each child, and then share his love and tender feelings with each one.
The last day we were alone together. I crawled up into the hospital bed
with him and tried to express the feelings of my heart. I felt so helpless
without him. He had always taken care of me, of all of us. I talked to him
for hours, reminding him of all of the love and laughter we had shared,
the dreams, the wonderful experiences of our life together. I thanked him
for teaching me by his great example to love, to trust, to give. I thanked
him for each of our beautiful children, for his strength, his patience,
his forgiving heart. And I thanked him for waiting, for enduring his own
pain to give us that last wonderful Christmas together.
And then I let him go. I assured him that the children and I would be all
right. He could go now to his heavenly home.
The little girl who had come to visit her "Daddy" almost a year before
would now be the angel that would hold our family together through our
extraordinary grief. Day by day, little Rebecca brought such joy and love
to our broken hearts that we were able to begin healing. Cal had not only
lasted through Christmas; he had given our family the greatest of all
gifts; a part of himself that would last a lifetime.
In loving memory of Calvin Eugene Stewart.
- --Cynthia Stewart-Copier Roseville, California Published in "Christmas
Miracles"
© Cynthia Stewart-Copier
Cynthia Stewart- Copier is an international speaker and the author of
several books and articles, which include the highly acclaimed new book:
Dream Big! A Woman's Book of Network Marketing, (Adams Media) and newly
released, Creating Wealth on The Web, (Adams Media). She has written for
top network publications and has been on numerous radio and television
shows. Cynthia knows first-hand how to dream big and has dedicated her
life to empower other's to stand-up, step-out, and reach their dreams. She
shares her inspiring secrets and unforgettable stories with organizations
across the country. Reach Cynthia at
www.DaretoDreamBig.com
* ** Rachel Stewart, and her mother, Cynthia Stewart-Copier are seeking
true, inspirational stories from female athletes for their upcoming book,
Dare It, Dream It, Do It! Please submit articles to
ccbooks@rcsis.com