On one of our visits we planned a family movie night. We brought microwave popcorn and we piled onto Ben’s hospital bed with him to watch the movie. It was great fun. “Now you kids get your homework done and listen to your mother.” Ben instructed all three kids from his hospital bed before we gave him hugs goodbye.
“We will, Daddy,” all three said in unison.
“God bless you and I love you,” Ben said, drawing a cross on their foreheads with his thumb before giving each one a goodnight hug.
“Oh, I have one more thing for you, Daddy,” Benjamin said, taking a folded envelope from his coat pocket. Handwritten on the outside it said, “To Dad. Open when we leave.” “Something for you to keep under your pillow.”
“Well thank you, Benjamin. I will keep it in a special spot,” Ben said, holding the letter to his chest.
“God bless and I love you too,” I said, bending over to draw a cross on Ben’s forehead, as he did the same for me, followed by a warm embrace in his arms. I longed to climb up beside him to stay and not let go, but I had to get the kids home to bed. They had school the next day, and I had work.
Arriving home late from our visit to the hospital, I rushed through our bedtime routine, tucked the kids into bed, and said bedtime prayers with each of them. Exhausted, I fell into my own bed and began to sob. I cried out, “Dear Lord, what can I do to hold my family together? What can I do to bring encouragement, comfort, and peace to Ben? Please God, I need your help.”
I slipped my hand under my pillow and was surprised to bump into something. It was a little plastic flower and a note from my younger son Jordan: “Dear Mom, I know you’re tired. Just relax and don’t fold all the laundry on your bed. I will help you fold it tomorrow. Go to sleep and rest. I love you. Love, Jordan.”
The next morning I woke with an important plan. I needed to take Ben some stationery and envelopes for him to write a letter to each of the kids. In my heart I knew he would not be coming home for Christmas, as much as I didn’t want to accept the reality.
Christmas Eve, with Ben still in the hospital, I carefully placed the bright red envelopes containing Ben’s letters to each of us on our Christmas tree. Of all the gifts given and exchanged that year, the letters from Ben were the favorites for all of us.
Ben lost his battle and passed away that January. Our world had been ripped apart. For all three of my children, the letter they received from their dad that Christmas is among their most prized possessions. And I have a treasure box with letters and note cards that Ben left under my pillow.
One night a few months after Ben passed away, as I was tucking Jordan into bed, I saw the familiar corner of a red envelope peeking out from underneath his pillow. It was the letter from his dad. It warmed my heart to see Ben’s letter there still helping Jordan.
All three kids are grown now, but they still treasure the letter from their dad, with its special message of love for each of them. For me, I still slip my hand under my pillow at night sometimes and remember the sweet memories of finding my own special messages of love under my pillow handwritten from Ben.
~Patricia Gallegos
To Read When You’re Alone
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.
~Honoré de Balzac
I was thirteen years old. My family had moved to Southern California from North Florida a year before. I hit adolescence with a vengeance. I was angry and rebellious, with little regard for anything my parents had to say, particularly if it had to do with me. Like so many teenagers, I struggled to escape from anything that didn’t agree with my picture of the world. A “brilliant without need of guidance” kid, I rejected any overt offering of love. In fact, I got angry at the mention of the word love.
One night, after a particularly difficult day, I stormed into my room, shut the door and got into bed. As I lay down in the privacy of my bed, my hands slipped under my pillow. There was an envelope. I pulled it out and on the envelope it said, “To read when you’re alone.”
Since I was alone, no one would know whether I read it or not, so I opened it. It said “Mike, I know life is hard right now, I know you are frustrated and I know we don’t do everything right. I also know that I love you completely and nothing you do or say will ever change that. I am here for you if you ever need to talk, and if you don’t, that’s okay. Just know that no matter where you go or what you do in your life, I will always love you and be proud that you are my son. I’m here for you and I love you — that will never change. Love, Mom.”
That was the first of several “To read when you’re alone” letters. They were never mentioned until I was an adult.
Today I travel the world helping people. I was in Sarasota, Florida, teaching a seminar when, at the end of the day, a lady came up to me and shared the difficulty she was having with her son. We walked out to the beach, and I told her of my mom’s undying love and about the “To read when you’re alone” letters. Several weeks later, I got a card that said she had written her first letter and left it for her son.
That night, as I went to bed, I put my hands under my pillow and remembered the relief I felt every time I got a letter. In the midst of my turbulent teen years, the letters were the calm assurance that I could be loved in spite of me, not because of me. Just before I fell asleep I thanked God that my mom knew what I, an angry teenager, needed. Today when the seas of life get stormy, I know that just under my pillow there is that calm assurance that love — consistent, abiding, unconditional love — changes lives.
~Mike Staver
Chicken Soup to the Rescue
Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine.
~Anthony J. D’Angelo
Plans had been made weeks in advance for the upcoming Valentine’s high school dance. I had two teenagers and one younger child in elementary school. Both of the older ones had dates for this very special occasion. Suits and dresses were chosen with all the accessories needed to complete everyone’s wardrobe. It was a draining experience for my energy and my budget. Flowers were ordered; it looked like it would be a wonderful evening for both of them. Our youngest was happily anticipating the class party that would be held on that day at his grammar school. Our house was full of emotion, excitement, and a bit of nerves.
Things began to change on February 11th as I was watching the nightly weather report. A crippling ice storm was headed our way and due to arrive the night of the 13th. We live just outside Dallas, Texas and when an ice storm hits here, the entire city shuts down. There is just not enough equipment or manpower to make the roads quite as safe as they do up north. I decided not to say anything to the three kids about what I had seen on TV, but I kept a close watch on the weather over the next few days.
The weathermen were certain it was coming and it was going to be a bad one. A thick coat of ice would blanket the city and six inches of snow would follow. I decided to prepare for the worst. I knew I needed to pull a rabbit out of my hat to make this Valentine’s a special one for my three children, who were in for a major disappointment.
Just a few weeks earlier I had read a story by Kathleene Baker in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad. It was called “Valentine’s Day Ambush.” It gave me some great ideas for how I might be able to pull off a great and memorable Valentine’s Day for my family. The more I thought, the more enthusiastic I became. I made a list of everything I needed to prepare.
I began shopping. I bought gifts for everyone, including two bouquets of beautiful fresh pink and red roses. I even bought several heart shaped pans and had all the groceries on hand for a wonderful feast, just in case there was no dance and no party. I made sure that the menu would include a favorite dish for each member of the family.
February 13th arrived. With my cup of coffee I sat down to listen to what the weather station had to say yet again. Every channel agreed the storm was coming. “Batten down the hatches; get ready, it’s on the way.” I was prep
ared for everything except the tears and sad faces I would encounter once my three excited kids heard the news. I kept busy that day baking and cooking everything that I could do in advance. As I was pulling a lovely heart-shaped cake from the oven, I heard something strange. I put the cake on the counter to cool and walked toward the noise, peeking out the window I observed ice slivers falling from the sky. The older kids arrived home shortly after that and came bursting into the house in an all-out teenage panic. “Mom,” they shouted in unison. “They may have to cancel the dance; we’re going to have an ice storm!” I assured them that it would be okay. “I am positive the school will reschedule the dance once the weather clears.” I tried to reassure them. That statement seemed to be of no comfort, especially to my daughter as I watched her eyes fill with tears. The youngest had been playing with his toy cars and overheard the conversation; he began to wail as if his heart would break.
The next day when I awoke, I glanced outside and the streets looked like an ice skating rink. Trees and bushes drooped, glistening with a heavy layer of ice. Schools and most businesses were closed. The newscasters were telling everyone to stay home. Most people heeded their advice, including us.
I allowed the kids to sleep late as I began to prepare the wonderful feast in celebration of Valentine’s Day. I kept thinking that if Kathleene’s dad could pull it off, I could too. He was my inspiration.
That evening the table looked beautiful, with red dishes and fresh flowers. Festive gifts were placed on each plate. Food filled every inch of space on the table and many things were heart-shaped. I told everyone to put on their best outfits and come into the dining room. I wore a gold and beige evening gown that had been hidden away in the back of my closet. My husband donned his blue suit and the two teens wore the new outfits they had chosen for the dance. Our youngest dressed himself; he looked so cute, with his church pants and a sweater three sizes too big.
Soon smiles and laughter filled the room; we enjoyed a Valentine dinner fit for the royal family, with seconds on dessert! Neither the dance nor the school party was mentioned the entire evening; everyone was wrapped up in all of the festivities. Before everyone went to bed that evening I received praises and hugs from them all.
We were stuck indoors several days before the roads were safe to travel again. Just as I had predicted, the dance was rescheduled for the next weekend and the elementary school party would be held the following day.
Had it not been for that inspirational story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad, I doubt I’d have thought to conjure up something to salvage the day for three disappointed children. “Chicken Soup” came to my rescue, but this time it was not for a cold.
~Carol Commons-Brosowske
Valentine’s Day Ambush
The beauty of fragrance is that it speaks to your heart . . . and hopefully someone else’s.
~Elizabeth Taylor
Valentine dinners with my parents became a thing of the past once I was old enough to date. Still, before heading out for the evening, I always received a sweet card and possibly a small gift. Upon returning home later, I indulged in my fair share of whatever homemade, mouth-watering dessert Mom had prepared for the occasion. Typically, it was a layered cake baked in heart-shaped pans, a scrumptious treat she served each year.
During my senior year of high school, Kansas was under siege on Valentine’s Day, with a winter storm blasting its way across the plains. School was dismissed early and “puppy love” dates were cancelled. For the first time in a few years, I’d be celebrating with my parents. Amazingly, it made a real impression on me.
Mother had prepared Dad’s favorite meal for dinner, but as the storm intensified she began to watch the clock and pace the floor.
“I’m really getting worried. With this weather I knew your dad would be a little late getting home, but not this late!” She busied herself keeping dinner warm, determined not to burn anything, but continued her march to and fro, glancing out the windows for headlights.
As a self-absorbed teenager, I continued with my phone conversation until I heard the door open and Mother wailing, “Oh, where have you been? I’ve just been worried sick!”
I rounded the corner to see Dad with his arms full of flowers and a box of chocolates. He smiled, “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey!” Mom threw her arms around him causing him to juggled gifts while trying graciously to accept Mom’s embrace.
The bouquet of flowers took center stage on the table as we seated ourselves for dinner.
I reached for my napkin and spied a small package by my plate that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “What’s this?” I asked, filled with excitement and surprise.
“Just open it!” Dad’s brilliant blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
I ripped the package open and could barely speak; it was a new bottle of Ambush cologne, quite a popular and affordable scent for teenagers at that time.
“Dad! Did you buy this all by yourself?” I squealed.
“Well, just kind of. It took some help from the clerk — actually it took a lot of help!”
I was stunned beyond belief. A Valentine gift purchased by Dad. I gave him a bear hug and a big kiss!
“You know I’ve seen that perfume around here forever and figured I could remember the name if I thought about Western movies. You know how they’re always ambushing one another. Well, everything was fine until the clerk asked me what brand . . . I told her Apache.”
“Apache!” I giggled until I had tears rolling down my cheeks.
Dad informed me it really wasn’t that funny at all. The clerk insisted there was no such cologne, while he swore there was. They went back and forth until he decided maybe he had forgotten the name — but made it clear he would recognize the smell his daughter obviously bathed in. That’s when the “misting marathon” began.
“It wasn’t long until I started to sneeze non-stop. My nose began to run, and I almost got sick from so many smells. Just when I thought I’d have to take a break outside in the fresh air before continuing, the clerk suddenly hit on it!”
Dad said he smiled at the clerk through the sneezing. “That’s it, that’s it! Thank you for your time ma’am.” Then he charged out the door toward his car through an all-out blizzard.
Never once have I asked Dad what possessed him to buy me a gift that year. I suspect it had something to do with the realization that my days under his roof were quickly coming to an end.
Roses, teddy bears, and cupids abound each February, creating fond memories. As for me, I have comical but precious memories of my Valentine’s Day Ambush! They reside in a special niche in my heart.
~Kathleene S. Baker
Losing Boomer
Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really.
~Agnes Sligh Turnbull
We recently had our fifteen-year-old Chihuahua put to sleep. Boomer was not my dog. He belonged to my late wife, Linda. Still, I found myself pretty choked-up the day my daughter, Emily, and I took him to the vet.
At times, Boomer was not an easy animal to live with. He barked at strangers, turned up his nose at dry dog food, and relieved himself on the floor instead of going outside. A difficult dog, yes, but since his death it’s become even more difficult to live without him.
Boomer wasn’t my dog, but he was an excellent running partner. When I was training for marathons seven days a week, Boomer accompanied me as I ran in the mountains behind our home. I’m not talking a short jog in the forest, here. It was ten, sometimes twenty miles. How could a small dog run that far? I’m not sure. He must have had a special running gene other Chihuahuas didn’t have. Together we slogged through mud, wind, heat, and hailstorm. We scampered up mountains so steep they would make a Kenyan distance runner cry uncle. The little guy didn’t have an ounce of quit in him.
Boomer was treated like a king around our house. Lots of food, a warm bed, and oodles of affection. Linda and I pampered him more than a four-star hotel concierge. When he wasn’t sneaking scra
ps from the table or snatching a cookie from the hand of an unsuspecting child, he was eating steak, ham, and turkey dinners. Begging for tasty tidbits was Boomer’s favorite pastime.
When Linda died of cancer, it was a very difficult time for our family. Boomer mourned right along with us. He lay in his bed and (shockingly) refused to eat, no matter what kind of yummy morsel I placed in front of him.
Emily headed off to college a few years later, and the relationship between man and Chihuahua continued to grow (although I still refused to call him “my” dog). Boomer was always there for me, through good times and bad. I took him for walks, gave him treats, talked to him and caressed him. In return, his love was unconditional.
But then he had a stroke and his health quickly began to fade. Walking became a problem, and his appetite began to diminish. Before long he completely stopped eating. Emily and I decided it was time to put him down. It was a tough thing to do. Boomer had been with us for a long time. He was also our last living memory of Linda.
It was going to be another heartbreaking hurdle for our family to overcome.
I had read a story by Bobbie Jensen Lippman titled “When It’s Time to Say Goodbye” in Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Dog. The story had a big impact on me, and I drew some strength from it. Bobbie had let her beloved dog go when the time came and I felt like she was talking me through the process now.
A storm blew in the morning we took Boomer to the vet’s office. Rain was coming down in buckets. I was grumpy and out of sorts that day, and I foolishly snapped at the poor receptionist who asked me to fill out a few forms.
“Dad, you sound like a cranky old man,” Emily whispered. I apologized and confessed that the thought of watching Boomer die was just too agonizing. I’d been through the death of a loved one before. I wasn’t sure I could handle the grief again, that period leading up to the last exhale that is so excruciating, so unbearable. Grief. One small word. One short syllable. But there is nothing small or short about it. Emily understood.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition Page 13
