The Impossible Gift

Merry Christmas Everyone!

(Sorry, I don’t DO Happy Holidays.)

A story written previously that I thought was worthy of a repeat for this Christmas. It has now mysteriously vanished from the original blog, Facebook, and Word, perhaps due to the fact that I highlighted it for copying. I think my computer is jinxed. So, I’ll have to re-write it completely, and to make sure this post doesn’t disappear, I am publishing it with the story still to be added. Hopefully, that way it’ll stay put.

The little girl on my lap looked up at me shyly. I remembered from my association with the orphanage as a board member that her name was Cindy, and that she did not really fit in.

‘Ho, ho, ho!’ I said. ‘And what do you want for Christmas, Cindy?’

She leaned close to me and said earnestly, ‘I want my mommy and daddy, please.’

I swallowed awkwardly before saying gently, ‘But they went to Heaven after being in a car accident.’

Cindy shook her head. ‘They weren’t my real mommy and daddy.’ Then she would say no more until I got her to settle on a doll as her Christmas present.

The conversation stayed with me, though. and in January I did some checking to discover that the ones killed were, indeed, adoptive parents from babyhood. The true parents were apparently unknown, as the baby had simply been dumped at the orphanage.

Shortly before the next Christmas I had one of the many visits I get from people enquiring about adoption. Something about this couple seemed hauntingly familiar, and I found myself thinking of Cindy, although the Matron said she was unsuitable as an adoption candidate.

‘What made you decide?’ I asked the couple.

‘We have always wanted children, but Ellen can’t have a baby after having had one far too young. Her witch of a mother freaked, and simply snatched it away, and I later found out that the kid had been adopted, so that was that.’

Wild thoughts were churning through my head. Could it be possible? No, of course not. And yet . . .

More questioning elicited that the age tallied, and I said, ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think I may know where your actual daughter is. Her adoptive parents were killed, and so she is available. She might be a fitting candidate anyway, even though she is set on finding her own parents.’

Ellen and Doug became excited and insisted on doing DNA tests immediately. Cindy thought hers was to keep her well.

The tests came out completely, unquestionably positive, and arrangements were concluded with the orphanage.

‘Hold it!’ I said to the wildly excited couple. ‘Don’t grab her yet. Tomorrow is the orphanage Christmas Tree again. Let Father Christmas make the announcement.’

When it was Cindy’s turn to come up on my lap, I beamed at her. ‘You remember asking me last year to find your real mommy and daddy?’

Her face froze. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘but I know now it is impossible.’

‘It isn’t, and I have!’ I announced triumphantly. ‘Ellen, Doug, come and meet your daughter’.

The two stepped forward hesitantly, not sure quite how to handle the situation. Cindy took the matter out of their hands. Bursting into tears, she rushed at them and hugged them in turn as if she’d never stop . . .

It was already an extremely happy little family I spent Christmas Day with as special guest. ‘I like you,’ Cindy said. ‘You are just like Santa.’

© December 2019 Colonialist