Natalie's daughter, a freshman at a large Midwestern university, recently got a job at an outdoor hunting and fishing store. For her first job assignment she donned an elfin hat and worked as Santa's helper, helping kids write letters to Santa, obtaining an e-mail address to forward the requests to the parents.
The new elfin one was surprised and put off to learn that elves could not touch children, and that if the children wanted to sit on Santa's lap, the adult accompanying them had to lift the child. This is a sad societal comment.
Natalie told me the sweet part of this story, about the young boy whose one wish for Christmas was a picture of his mother. Try to imagine all of the six to nine year old children you know, and then try to imagine how many of them would ask only for, a picture of their mother for Christmas.
But this is also the bitter-sweet part of the story, for it tells a tale so sad. This young boy knew he would not see his mother at Christmas, that she would not hold him, that the best he could hope for was a picture.
More important than any toy, any material thing, was a picture of his mother.
We'll never know his mother's fate, nor will we know of this young boy's fate. We do know this young boy loved, and loved deeply.
In our best moments, we love.
And when we lose one we have loved, we can remember; we can remember our best moments together, when the love was shared.
