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All I Want For Christmas

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By D'ANN LAWRENCE WHITE | The Tampa Tribune

Published: January 9, 2008

Brandon - Brandon - He keeps asking me what I want for Christmas. I suspect my husband is egging my son on behind the scenes. My husband is clueless when it comes to gift buying.

When I tell Ian that I already received the ultimate Christmas present 12 years ago, he just gives me that look that says, "Aw, shucks, you have to say that because you're my mom."

Children have no idea what a gift they are.

I was reminded of that fact as I watched the Children of the World International Choir perform at Cornerstone Baptist Church in Brandon a couple of weeks ago. Their beautiful voices and smiling faces epitomized the faith and hope of the holiday season despite the fact that many of them had faced untold tragedy in their young lives.

It's a hope and faith I see reflected on my own son's face.

Every family has its ups and downs, and, frankly, this has been one of those down years in our family. At the time we should have been celebrating my son's 12th birthday in August, his grandpa, my husband's dad, went into Brandon Regional Hospital for gall bladder surgery. In the process, doctors discovered he had a serious heart problem and his routine surgery became a three-week hospital stay followed by the painful realization that he could no longer live on his own. He would have to stay with us.

The same day grandpa was having surgery, we received a call from a hospital in Burbank, Calif. My sister-in-law, Mara, a model and actress who never married, hadn't been feeling well and was being treated for irritable bowel syndrome. Now the doctor on the other end of the phone told my husband that she had Stage IV non-Hodgkin's lymphoma with every organ involved. The doctor suggested we come get Mara so she can die surrounded by her family.

My husband flew to California while I prepared a room in our home for yet another new member of the household.

Ian's a pretty astute kid who's been through a lot in 12 years. He grieved with three classmates when they lost their parents to cancer and bravely faced his own father's battle with the disease. I could tell he was made of strong stuff when our Yorkshire terrier died from eating contaminated dog food in April and he insisted on carrying her body into the vet's office and choosing the urn for her remains.

I was debating how to tell him about his aunt. Mara took the decision out of my hands.

"You know that I'm going up to heaven to be an angel with God, don't you, Ian?" she asked.

Mara is teaching all of us to appreciate every moment of our lives, literally showing us how to stop and smell the roses. My house is always filled with flowers she picks from my yard and arranges in paper cups she decorates with favorite pictures cut out of magazines and bits of ribbon. She spends hours watching the birds visit the feeders she faithfully fills with seeds every day, and she's especially fond of the manatee viewing center in Apollo Beach, envisioning them as the mermaids the ancient mariners once thought them to be rather than the big, lunky gray, whiskered creatures we know them to be.

It was just before Thanksgiving when I received word that my father in St. Louis, waging his own battle against cancer, wasn't faring well. Doctors found a tumor in his brain and were debating whether to operate. My dad took the decision out of their hands. No more radiation. No more chemo. No more surgery. No more feeding tubes.

"Don't be sad. No life for me," was how he put it. They placed him in a hospice unit the Friday after Thanksgiving and I flew home to say goodbye. He died that Sunday.

We debated having Ian fly to St. Louis for the funeral. However, with my psychologist husband working most evenings as well as caring for his dad and sister, and me helping my mom make funeral arrangements in St. Louis, we agreed it would be best to let my friend Mary Owens watch Ian after school until I returned home.

As always, the good-natured little boy went along with the plan without complaint.

On a Thursday while I was busy burying my father and comforting my mother and my husband was occupied with back-to-back group therapy sessions, Ian didn't bother us with the news that he was singing a solo in the Advent program at church.

While Mary waited in the car, Ian quietly let himself into the house with his own key and changed his clothes for the concert. From what my friend, Elaine Speer, tells me, he chose an oversized button-down shirt, possibly one of his father's cast-offs, for the performance, not bothering to tuck it into his pants. He put on a tie but, since he doesn't know how to tie a tie, it was hardly up to Windsor standards.

His thick, nearly black hair was way too long and unmanageable so he used some gel and combed it out of his face. As always, his glasses were askew and slightly dirty.

Parents attending the Advent program who didn't know this little boy's circumstances must have wondered who would send their child to perform in a Christmas program looking so unkempt.

Elaine said he was just about the cutest thing she'd ever seen. My friends and Father Bill tell me he sang like an angel.

Despite the chaos going on around him, this child had the strength, confidence, faith and commitment to carry on, knowing full well that his parents would never witness his moment in the spotlight.

My husband and I agreed that, as parents, this was one of the proudest moments of our lives, and we weren't even there to witness it.

Nothing can top that Christmas gift.

D'Ann Lawrence White is a columnist for The Brandon News and Tampa Tribune.

D'Ann Lawrence White is a columnist for The Brandon News and Tampa Tribune.

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