A little boy's simple offering sparks the greatest gift of all.
By Jeri Leong
At 85, my mother suffered a debilitating stroke that resulted in progressively diminishing speech. For a few years, she'd speak in short sentences, but as the years passed, her words became fewer and fewer. Then, she lost all speech.
I kept trying to get her to talk. During one Christmas visit, my husband and I sat with Mom as she unwrapped her gifts. The nurses fussed over her new shawl and bedroom slippers and did their best to coax an answer. Her doctor stopped in and gave Mom a hug: "Merry Christmas, Alice!" But no response. Just a blank look.
The last gift was from my grandson, Cole. He was 3 years old, and he and I had strung wooden holiday character bead necklaces on colored yarn. He chose a penguin for his great grandma. I handed the little gift to Mom and explained he had wrapped it himself in the bright red paper.
She studied the tiny wrapped gift in her hand. She held it for so long, I thought she might refuse it. At last, with her one good hand, she began peeling off the wrapping.
The necklace was simple, strung with red and green beads. In the center was a small, cartoon-like wooden penguin in a stocking cap. I began my usual one-sided conversation, explaining how Cole had done the stringing and chosen the beads.
She held the necklace up for a closer look. Then one of the nurses popped in, looked at the necklace in Mom's hand, and said, "Oh, is this from your great-grandson? Did he make it himself? How old is he now? Did he make it in school?"
Then suddenly, clearly and easily, words began coming out. "Yes, my great-grandson made it," Mom said. "Isn't it beautiful? The workmanship is perfect. His name is Cole. He may have made it in school, I don't know."
We were stunned. The nurse began to cry and rushed out to grab another nurse. We all thought we were imagining it. Another nurse arrived. "Alice is talking!" the nurse exclaimed. "Alice, Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas," Mom replied.
What followed was more than 30 minutes of coherent, expressive communication from Mom. Mostly, she talked about the necklace. She said several times how talented Cole must be to have made such a special gift.
Slowly, the staff came by and listened in disbelief as they heard the first and only words from Mom in more than two years. The therapists could not explain it. "How can this be?" I asked her doctor. "Does it mean she can start talking again all the time?" The doctor said she didn't know. "Let's wait and see," she added.
We returned early the next morning, eager to pick up where we left off. Mom was sitting in her room, wearing the necklace. "Hello!" I started right in. "How are you today? Great necklace! Isn't the necklace terrific?"
But no response.
Her doctor explained that sometimes a fond memory, a familiar face, a smell, or a voice could trigger a connection in the brain. Sometimes it's brief, sometimes longer. No clinical explanation, really. I asked if the necklace could have sparked a distant memory.
"Of course," she said. "It wouldn't be the first time a little boy's gift was part of a Christmas miracle, would it?"
Mom passed away two years later, without ever saying another word.
