“Mommy!” Lexi squealed as she scurried around the living room, helping me decorate for the holidays.

I knelt down and gazed into her freckled face, hidden by layers of unruly blonde curls. “Yes, Lexi?” 

“Can you help me find some more or-da-ments for the tree?” she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down in anticipation.

I smiled and took her hand. Inside I felt a pang of regret and even a bit of mild envy and wished I could still love Christmas as much as she did, despite all of the sadness that had surrounded us this year. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll help you find some ornaments.”

“That’s what I said,” she told me proudly and attempted to pull me toward the tree. “You know what, Mommy?”

“What, Lexi?” I replied patiently.

Squinting her blue eyes, she carefully observed the green branches of tree sitting in the corner. “Our tree looks different this year.”

I glimpsed at the small, artificial tree that not even Charlie Brown could love. “You’re right,” I agreed solemnly, “it is different this year. It’s smaller, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” Lexi seconded with a dramatic nod of her head. “Last year it almost touched the ceiling, this year it’s only as tall as me.”

I separated the decorations in the tattered cardboard box on the floor, desperate for a distraction, and retrieved a handful of ornaments. “Yes, it is, but you’ve grown a lot this year,” I praised. “Just think how little the tree would’ve been if it had only been as tall as you were last year.”

She giggled and slipped glittering pink and purple ornaments onto her tiny fingers. “Really little! Cause I was only three then!” 

“Do you like the tree?”

“I do,” she assured me. “It makes it easier for me to put stuff on it. Now, Daddy doesn’t have to lift me, does he?”

“N-no, he doesn’t,” I stammered, suddenly overtaken with grief. “Lexi,” I whispered and pulled her into my arms, “do you understand that this Christmas will be different? Daddy won’t be able to be here. Remember when we talked about what dying meant?”

She sighed and squirmed. “Mommy, I want to decorate the tree!”

I smiled weakly and let go. “Go have fun.”

Off she went, rushing toward that pathetic looking tree, not allowing anything to hold her back. I stared down at an ornament covered with stars, framing a picture from last Christmas when we had still been a family of three. So much had changed within the last year, our entire world had been turned upside down with my husband, Jim’s, passing. My heart still ached endlessly. Yet Lexi continued to smile everyday and keep me going.

How would I give my earth-bound angel the perfect Christmas she deserved? Unknowingly, she had kept me alive with her innocent ways through all the chaos. Somehow, I had to repay her and assure that her love for the holidays wouldn’t end.

Physically, she was my clone, but emotionally- she emulated her father. Jim’s spirit lived in her: repeated sayings, a contagious laugh and the ability to smile through it all. No matter what, my Lexi could smile and make the world around her reflect.

Just yesterday, during a quick visit with Santa, she looked up at me and pointed to the child ahead of her. “Mommy,” she murmured, “that boy’s Daddy brought him. I wish my daddy could bring me.”

Then, her sadness vanished when she reached Mr. Claus and nestled herself into his lap. I watched silently while she whispered into the old gentlemen’s ear and his jolly grin disappeared.

“What did you ask for, honey?” I asked, boosting her into my arms after the visit ended.

“I asked him to bring Daddy back, but he said he couldn’t.” She yawned and rested her head against my shoulder. “But he gave me an idea.”

“And what’s that?”

My only answer was a quiet snore.

“Lexi!” I called out, capturing her wandering attention as my mind faded back to the present. “Do you remember seeing Santa yesterday?”

“Yeah, an elf gave me a candy cane,” she told me distractedly, placing a pink ball over a bare branch. “Santa was nice.”

“You said he gave you an idea,” I reminded her. “Do you remember it?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, dropping her jaw. “I almost forgoted!”


“Forgot,” I corrected.

“That’s what I said,” she hollered back and hurried into her bedroom.

I shook my head, recalling Jim’s failed attempts to correct the unique version of the English language she used.

“How can I correct her?” he’d chuckle. “I think her words are funner, anyway,” he would insist, quoting a term from Lexi’s personal vocabulary.

“I’m back!” she sang as the echo of her footsteps traveled behind her. “Look what I made!” she exclaimed and pressed a piece of construction paper into my hands.

“What’s this?” I asked, peering at the colorful scribbles.

“A card. You like it?” 

I smiled and nodded. “I do! Is it for me?”

“No,” she answered immediately, “it’s for Daddy. Santa said I oughtta’ write him a letter. But I don’t know all my letters yet, so, I drawed him a picture.”

“Drew-” I cut myself off, too pleased with her kind gesture to bother with grammar. “It’s absolutely beautiful,” I praised, hugging her tightly. “And Daddy would’ve loved it, if he could see it.”

“Can’t he?” she challenged. “We could mail it. Does Heaven have a P.O. Box?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” I told her, chuckling. “That’s a very good question.”

Lexi hugged my leg even tighter. “Even if God doesn’t, it’s okay, Mommy.”

Gently, I pushed away the curls that covered her eyes and kissed her forehead. “Really?” I whispered. “Why’s that?”

“Cause preacher says that God is always watching us, so, I know Daddy sees me and my card,” she stated confidentially. “But I’m jealous,” she grumbled as an afterthought.

“Why are you jealous?” I asked worriedly.

“God sees everything from Heaven,” Lexi replied. “So, Daddy’s gonna’see Santa when he comes here on Christmas Eve,” she explained, walking back to the tree. “He’ll get to see my presents before I do!”

For the first time in months, I genuinely smiled, and sat in awe while I watched my little girl continue to trim the tree. Hearing her simple thoughts aloud made me realize how lucky we were to have each other, that my husband was, in fact, still with us; and even the Christmas that I had dread would be a merry one.