As Christmas time nears, we who have lost a child only have our memories to
carry us through. My mind has been reeling with memories of years past. But
there was one, that I will always remember.......
It was a cold snowy December that year in 1976. Frigid temperatures had me
piling more and more wood into our wood burner in the living room. Andy wanted
to go outside and build a snowman. I told him no, it was too cold. He then
wanted to go over to "John's" trailer and visit. I said no.
John lived on the adjoining property. An elderly man who never had any children
of his own, he took a shining to my son. Every time Andy was outside playing, I
could hear his giggles over at John's house as they planted a garden outside in
summer, or Andy "helped" John work on some project he was doing. John didn't
have much. His trailer was old and ragged looking. Andy didn't see the "old"
trailer. He only saw a man who loved kids and a man who could bring a smile on a
child's face daily. Andy didn't notice the tattered clothes John wore. But I
did. Andy didn't notice the hands that were calloused from years of hard work,
only I did. And yet, I still didn't want Andy to go over to John's house. Maybe
I was afraid he'd pick up germs. Maybe I was afraid John's shabbiness would rub
off onto Andy. How wrong I was. How blind I as an adult was that cold snowy
winter.
It was Christmas Eve Day when the knock came at the door. I was baking cookies
so Andy went to the door. I heard his squeal of "JOHN" as he opened the door.
John had never been to my house before and I wondered why he was there standing
with his hat in his hand, head bowed in a blinding snow storm. I went to the
door as the old gray eyes looked up at me and his voice said, "I've made
something for Andy for Christmas." Behind him, in the snow, sat the most
beautiful wood crafted toy box on wheels that I'd ever seen. Andy jumped out the
door and hugged John's neck. I helped John bring the toy chest into the house. I
noticed how smooth the corners were sanded. I noticed how much work was put into
making the box being a wood crafter myself. I knew John had spent hours making
the toy chest.
The three of us sat down as I offered John a piece of cake and a glass of milk.
I saw the old gray eyes lovingly look at Andy, and I saw the love and admiration
in Andy's eyes as he looked up at John. It was Andy, after John left to go back
home, that went into his room and dug out a piece of wood he'd painted and told
me he wanted to give it to John for Christmas. I watched as my little boy
trucked through the snow to John's trailer to share the true meaning of
Christmas with his friend.
It was a month later on January 22 when another knock came at the door. Andy
opened the door to see John standing there holding a cake he'd made with crooked
letters on it saying, "Happy Birthday Andy and Andy's mom." I offered to have
him come in and we'd share the cake, but he declined. He handed Andy a paper
sack and hugged him before he left. I will always remember Andy reaching in the
bag and pulling out the finest crafted little car I'd ever seen.
It was two months before Christmas in 1977 as I sat in a funeral home, my heart
broken, as my little boy laid in the casket. Oblivious to whom was near me, only
knowing I could not go on without my son, I didn't look up when I felt hands
rest on my shoulder. And yet they stayed there. I remember turning my head to
see John standing there, those gray eyes filled with tears as he looked at me.
John lost his little friend that day. I had once been blinded by the love
between a little boy and an old man. And yet, that little boy taught me to look
beyond tattered clothes and old shabby trailers. He taught me to see real
beauty, in an old man's eyes. For on that day, I saw love, genuine love from the
heart from an old man who loved my son. John joined Andy in heaven the following
winter.
God Bless you John. Take care of my little boy for me until I get there.
Love,
Andy's mom
Sharon Bryant 1946@bellsouth.net
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