I sent him three links by the time I gave in and reached for my phone.
Did you try them all?
I asked when he picked up.
And with your iPad?
After 15 minutes we resorted to FaceTime.
Thank goodness something is reliable, he said, sitting down at his desk.
…
I exhaled a sigh of relief.
But it had been just 24 hours.
I was at my condo in downtown Chicago, the place I called home in pre-pandemic times.
For various reasons, we had held the story close.
They hadnt lived long enough to be wise.
And yet they were wise beyond their years.
She liked it, he said, silent for a moment.
I looked at it and didnt quite understand it.
And now, finally, I do.
…
We didnt need to.
He was a child again, and to me, for the first time.
I thought about how much I missed him right then.
When I lived in France for a year.
How I yearned to be next to him now.
Can you just put them on my credit card, Cole?
my dad had asked.
I had exclaimed, laughing.
The only thing: After my mom was gone, the continuation of each of these storylines was thwarted.
Within a few years, I stopped skating.
Without her guidance, I didnt feel encouraged to outfit the miniature home.
The combs would collect dust.
The watch chain would be rendered useless.
It didnt take away from their magic in the moment or her doting intention behind the giving.
And maybe, as a child, my focus was in the right place.
By placing it on those things, I fueled her passion for giving.
But nownow maybe I knew better.
I deeply missed the spirit with which my mom gave.
But now, in front of me, was the spirit my dad was giving of himself.
It was never about a gift to be asked for, it would seem.
Just one to be received, thoroughly and gratefully, day in and day out.
Maybe A Christmas Irony or A Christmas Twist, he had said.
…
Got it, you’ve been added to our email list.
