Joy for Loss
originally published in The Magic of Christmas
Chicken Soup for the Soul publication 2022
Donna and I had been friends for a long time when she lost her husband of twenty-seven
years. As the holiday season approached, Donna grew depressed. She opted not to decorate,
refused invitations to holiday parties, and retreated into her sadness. “I don’t know how to get
through it,” she told me repeatedly. “I’m just trying to endure it.” But then, on December thirteenth, everything about that first Christmas without Harvey changed. An unknown someone visited Donna’s home for twelve nights, well after dark.
Her doorbell would ring, and she would find a gift with a message attached on her porch. The
messages were based on the historical implications of the “Twelve Days of Christmas” carol.
The note explained that this was more than a song. It was the way Christians had communicated
the gospel during times of persecution. The partridge in the pear tree represented Christ on the
cross, and a bowl of pears accompanied the first message. Similar gifts and messages came for
eleven more nights.
Donna admitted to trying to catch the giver. She would flip the porch light randomly
through the evening. She left the door open and stood by half-opened blinds. She spent hours
trying to discover her benefactor and accused friends, family, and co-workers. Nevertheless, she
said, “It’s made all the difference. It’s something to look forward to.”
I was not the original giver, but Donna’s experience would catapult us into extending
these twelve days of giving to other women over the next few years—women like Donna who
had lost the love of their life and couldn’t fathom a holiday without him.
Donna and I had many adventures during these escapades. We drove without headlights
to avoid detection. Neighbors of our recipient eyed us suspiciously and called the authorities on
occasion. More than once, we flattened ourselves against the side of a house while a widow on
the porch called out, “Hello! Thank you!” One night, in a dense fog, I inched the car forward,
attempting to pick up Donna from a drop. For several minutes, I drove into the blackness. I
finally stopped, and Donna startled me by jumping into the car, breathing hard. She had been
chasing me for a block!
Our first expedition of this ongoing adventure turned out to be the most eventful. The
widow of a pastor and her two young sons lived on a cul-de-sac, which presented a problem. We
had to park on the through street, sneak around the cul-de-sac, and hide until we could approach
the door undetected. After ringing the doorbell, we had to hide between houses until we could
safely walk back to the car. On the first night, Donna wedged herself between a tree and the side of the house. A visiting friend came out on the porch with his firearm to investigate the late-night doorbell ring-and-run. Upon finding the message, he went back in and presumably assured the widow there was no threat. On the fourth night, Donna came face to face with the widow. They had a staring contest until Donna walked off the porch without speaking. Two nights later, I parked in the driveway of a darkened neighboring house. It was lightly snowing and freezing. I pulled as close as possible to the garage door. Donna had almost made it across the lawn when the garage door in front of me flew open. A sedan pulled into the driveway, swerving to avoid hitting me. The driver jumped out of the car yelling. I rolled down the window and whispered my explanation. He
encouraged me to pull into the garage for better hiding and became our co-conspirator for the
rest of the days.
Another Christmas, our beneficiary lived at the end of an unpaved country road in the
middle of nowhere. I had to get creative. I placed each day’s message and gift in individual gift
bags numbered one to twelve. The bags went into a huge basket with a letter explaining to open
one each night beginning on December thirteenth. The basket “mysteriously” appeared in her
church lobby on Sunday morning with the help of a mutual friend. Neither Donna nor I attended her church, but I was invited to a Christmas program there the following weekend. I sat chatting with my friend while waiting for the program to start. The widow happened to slide into the pew in front of me.
“Look, look,” she said, pointing at her lapel. A familiar pin of a glittering drummer boy
twinkled. She began to tell her friend about the basket of twelve bags that was turning her
sorrowful holiday into a joyful one. I concentrated on the program in my lap and hoped that myface didn’t betray me. “I have no idea where it came from,” she said.
“We’ll find out,” her friend assured her. “I’ll help you.” But they never did.
Over the years, I’ve finessed my list. I shop after Christmas in anticipation of another
opportunity to change someone’s sorrow into joy. I add a personal note on Day Twelve with a
memorial to the lost loved one. It isn’t an enjoyable project. The nature of it means that a friend
has become a widow. I can’t stop the outcome by pretending it didn’t happen. I can only offer a
little joy when there’s an empty spot around the tree.
Get the gift guide to bring joy into someone’s loss here!Give Joy!