Dedicated to Kathleen Braun
I should’ve known things were about to go downhill when my husband, Bill, fell through the ceiling the first week of Christmas break. He was in the crawl space above the kitchen getting the Christmas decorations. Suddenly there was a loud crack, and it was raining ceiling bits and insulation with Bill’s legs dangling like a chandelier.
The kids and I got him down easily. He only had a few scrapes and sore muscles after missing a support beam and accidentally stepping on some unsupported ceiling.
“Getting the decorations will have to wait,” I told the kids as I cleaned up in the kitchen with gloved hands. I’m allergic to insulation.
With the kitchen a mess and cooking far from my mind, we went to a buffet. I don’t like going to buffets. Cindy, our oldest, has food allergies, but at eleven she should know what to eat.
It was chaotic at the buffet. The kids were up and down from the table trying everything. We only sat together for a few minutes at a time. But it was nice not having to cook and clean. It made facing the mess at home easier.
When the kids were in bed, Bill and I got the kitchen spotless. As we finished, we heard Dillon, our six-year-old, cry out from his room.
We met Dillon in the hallway. He was only in his underwear “I’m itchy!” he whined.
I turned on the hall light to see red hives all over him.
“Did you wash up after Daddy fell through the ceiling like I told you?” I asked him.
“I don’t know!” Dillon moaned.
That was a no.
It ended up being a long night. As I tended to Dillon, Cindy woke up with trouble breathing.
“We’re out of epi-pens,” Bill informed me.
I wanted to scream my next question, but refrained, “How can we be out of epi-pens?”
“Cindy said she left them at school,” Bill added.
I groaned.
Bill took Cindy to the ER.
By the time they got home Dillon was cleaned, calmed and medicated enough to sleep.
The next few days left us recovering from the calamities of that day. The many plans that went astray did not improve our moodiness. Everything we did somehow turned sour.
Bill was hesitant to try and get the Christmas decorations again. None of us pressured him. Because of this our house was lacking any Christmas spirit.
It was three days before Christmas, as we climbed into bed for the night, Bill suggested “It might help our moods if I venture up in the crawl space tomorrow and get the decorations.”
It was another long day of Christmas vacation. We had gone sledding and our nine-year-old twins, Caleb and Gretchen, hurt their ankles when they were fighting over a sled.
The decorations never got pulled out.
That night, I bolted up in bed when every smoke alarm was going crazy. There was haze in the air and it felt warm. All the kids were coming into our room. Cindy was carrying a crying Dillon.
“There’s a fire in the garage,” Cindy said, oddly calm.
I reached for my phone to call 9-11, but it was gone. Gretchen held it up and said, “Cindy had me call 9-11.”
Without another word Bill and I rushed everyone outside. Bill went back in to see if he could use a fire extinguisher on the.
“It didn’t do much good,” Bill told us when he came back without the extinguisher.
When the firefighters got the flames extinguished, they told us, “Most of the house is intact, but not safe enough to go back inside yet.”
“Where are we going to stay?” Cindy asked, now in tears, “What about Christmas?”
“I don’t know…” I whispered, trying to hold back my tears.
A neighbor welcomed us in that night. Our kids slept on the floor of their kids’ room. Bill and I were in a guest room.
When Bill and I got the kids calmed enough to sleep, we crawled into bed. There I finally let myself cry. “All of the kids’ presents were in the garage!”
Christmas felt gone.
Bill’s boss heard about the fire and in the morning, he paid for us to have a hotel suite up until the day after New Year’s Day. The sudden kindness almost made me cry again.
“Don’t worry,” his boss, Mr. Edwards, said over the phone. “The company is paying for it.”
Mr. Edwards owned the company.
Hope was barely there on Christmas Eve night as I put the children to bed. I debated whether or not to tell the kids Christmas gifts would be limited. Dillon beat me to voicing those thoughts, “I understand if Santa is late delivering to us. I’m sure it’s hard getting into a hotel room.”
“Yeah,” Caleb added, “Christmas doesn’t have to be celebrated on the 25th.”
“We’ll see…” was all I could say.
“I’m okay if I only have the gift Mr. Edwards sent,” Dillon continued, “Jesus only got three gifts.”
I smiled at him, “Good point Buddy.”
Christmas morning was bright and cheery. The gifts from Bill’s boss were generous and the kids were pleased with them.
After breakfast there was a knock on the door.
Bill opened the door. It was Tawny from the front desk. She and Bill spoke for a moment before Tawny handed Bill two bags then left.
“What was that all about?” I asked
“Tawny told me a guy came to drop these off. He said he was a fire marshal,” Bill explained, “The Marshal told Tawny he was looking at the damage at our house when he found these.”
In the bags were wrapped gifts that were singed at the edges.
“Two for each of us!” Gretchen exclaimed as we handed them out.
“That makes three in total!” Cindy added.
“Just like Jesus!” Dillon smiled.
THE END
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