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The Christmas Cassette

reader miracleIn June 2003,

I buried my 26-year-old son. The

following Christmas was the worst

of my life. I was consumed with grief

to my very core. As I awoke early

Christmas morning, I decided to

write a few Christmas cards, belated

or not. I went to the drawer where

I stored the boxed cards. The drawer

would open only slightly;

something was jamming it.

The cause of the jam was an

unlabeled cassette. I had

no idea what was on it or how

it had gotten there. I popped

the cassette in the player and

waited to hear whatever mystery

it held. Soon I heard my own voice.

In a whisper, I say, “It’s Christmas

morning, and Kyle is still sleeping.”

Kyle awakens and sleepily comes to

the realization that he gets to check the

tree. His childish voice goes on to name

his toys from Santa. The last words on

the tape are both heartfelt and heart-

breaking. They are three-year-old

Kyle saying “Merry Christmas, Mom!”

I know my son made this Christmas

miracle happen so I could have a smile

in my heart that morning.

—Connie Owen

south milwaukee, wisconsin

T

hree years ago, at Assump-

tion’s first annual pilgrimage,

hundreds gathered on the

church’s neatly tended lawn, the larg-

est event in Centralia in years.

“As long as the church stands here,

as long as the bells ring, that will be

the voice of God calling you into his

presence,” the archbishop told the pil-

grims, “reminding you that he has not

abandoned you, any more than he has

abandoned the people of this town.”

But the pilgrimage comes only once

a year. On the other Sundays, things

go back to the way they’ve been for

the past 107 years. The bells ring. The

Kyle (center) with his brother,

Trevor (left), and mother, Connie

rd.com 63

courtesy connie owen