After eating that meal with such heavy hearts, we left
the kitchen table and moved to the living room where
the granddaughters, Gary, Ken, and I had unwrapped
Christmas gifts every December of our lives. 
However, the materialism seemed so bold and
magnified that Christmas without Mama, keeper of the
true spirit of unselfish giving.  After we exchanged all
gifts, Daddy shocked us with an announcement.

  “Boys, I have a gift from your mama and me,” Daddy
said.  “Your mama was aware that we had not gotten
you boys anything for Christmas.  She also realized
that this would be the last Christmas you would
receive a gift from her.  As sick and as medicated as
your mama was, she clearly knew what you needed
and could use.  She gave me specific instructions on
what to buy.”  With a lump in his throat and a teary
mist in his eyes but a conviction in his voice, Daddy
reached out with a gift in his hand and said, “Merry
Christmas from your mama and me!”

  Suddenly, the spirit of Christmas resurrected itself. 
I felt Mama’s presence in the living room of my
childhood that night.  I grabbed the gift from Daddy
and ripped into the wrapping with the enthusiasm of
my ten-year-old daughter Natalie!  What could be the
last gift ever from my mama?  Mama had never given
me a gift that I did not need or could use no matter
what the occasion or season.  Yet, the gift I
unwrapped that night was the greatest gift my mother
had ever given.  Underneath that pretty paper and big
bow was the King James Version of the Holy Bible. 
Imprinted on the lower right hand corner of the front
cover was my name, “BOB MCDONALD.”  Mama had
personalized my gift.  I knew Daddy had followed her
instructions to the letter.  Pop would have never
thought to put my name on the cover.

  Family traditions will die only at the hands of the
family.  My wife Sally has made certain that this
tragedy will never happen in the McDonald Family. 
Shortly after that first Christmas without Mama, Sally
decided the Christmas celebration was too large to be
handled by a seventy six year old senior citizen and
his three sons.  Hence since 1994, the Rockingham
McDonalds drive to the home of the Hope Mills
McDonalds every Christmas Eve to dine, fellowship,
and open gifts.  Of course, the gifts are initially
displayed under the branches of a live Christmas tree
found in my living room.  After all, it’s a family
tradition.  Mama’s granddaughters and now great-
grandsons open these gifts with the same childhood
enthusiasm and excitement Gary, Ken, and I used in
our living room in Rockingham so long ago.  Every
Christmas Uncle Gary, the mechanical-minded
brother, pulls out his tools and puts together the
“assembly required” gifts just as Daddy did when
according to Mama, “The elves threw the boxed gifts
on the sleigh because they ran out of time to
assemble.”  Just as Mama did, Sally buys and hides
Christmas presents all year so she can, as she says,
“Give like your Mama!”  After all, it’s a family
tradition.”  Every McDonald member has to render his
or her favorite Christmas story about Mama.  After
revisiting Christmases of the past, the Rockingham
clan packs up and hurries home because Santa and
his eight tiny reindeer are in-flight to Richmond
County.  My three girls are always in the same rush to
go to bed since no one knows where Santa will land
first, Rockingham or Hope Mills.

  For several Christmas mornings, our girls were
always up and exploring under the Christmas tree
before I could arise from bed.  I was exhausted after
helping unload Santa’s sleigh and assembling any
gifts still on the sleigh in a box.  After a mental
flashback to Christmas Past, the spirit of Christmas
grabbed me by the shoulders and shook my very soul
as the gleeful sounds of my children under the tree
drifted to my bedroom upstairs.  I was allowing a
family tradition to die.  I hurried downstairs and
corralled Sally and the kids onto the living room
couch.  I then opened up that treasured Christmas gift
of 1992 and read from Luke 1:1-20 the same words my
daddy read to my two brothers, my mama, and me for
so many Christmases of so long ago.  My focus went
back to that first Christmas in Bethlehem but also
drifted to those Christmas mornings in Rockingham
back in the ‘50s and ‘60s.  My three girls did and still
do twitch and fidget as much as Gary, Ken, and I did
when we were kids.  When I open that precious Bible,
I can feel the spirit of Mama in our living room every
Christmas morning and know she is pleased with the
use of her gift to me.   

I discovered that I not only have a use for this gift but I
also have a need for this gift.  Many nights after Daddy
had gone to bed, Mama and I would sit up and talk. 
Not only did these nights include late nights as a kid
but also weekend nights on home visits from college
as well as the nights as a young married man while
my wife was back in Hope Mills sound asleep.  Mama
was always available to discuss and give advice on
anything.  I thought I had lost that advisor with her
death.  I still had questions from time to time that
stood unanswered.  Yet, Mama had provided me with
an answer book and I was naive to the obvious.  Page
one of my answer book read: Presented To Bob By
Mama and Daddy Date Christmas 1992.  Yes, this
devout Christian woman had left a book of advice that
I could use for any issue or any situation for the rest
of my life. 

The Holy Bible reassures me that because of my faith
and hope in God’s gift to the world that first
Christmas, I will again one day see my mama.  This
promise is based on an empty tomb.  Yet before the
tomb was empty, the manger held God’s gift to the
world.  I confessed my sins and I believe Jesus Christ
is the Son of God and accepted God’s gift as my Lord
and Saviour.

The gift Mama gave to Gary, Ken, and me from her
deathbed is the Answer Book to finding the gift of
eternal life.  This Answer Book is the guide Mama
used for her life and still is the rulebook Daddy uses
for his.  It is my prayer that my brothers and I turn to
this Answer Book when life throws a curve at us and
follow the advice found in God’s Holy Word.  Mama
did not intend for us to leave it on the shelf.  It is also
my wish that even though Ken and Gary live alone
now, they open Mama’s gift on Christmas morning
and read from Luke 1:1-20 and reflect on the times in
the past and project on what this story means for
them in the future.  I also hope that when my three
girls leave the nest and establish themselves with or
without a husband, with or without kids that my girls
do the same.  After all, reading this story on Christmas
morning is a family tradition and one of my precious
childhood memories of growing up in Rockingham,
North Carolina – a small textile town in the South in
the ‘ 50s & ‘ 60s.  



P.S.    I love to share my mother’s view on death via
cancer versus death as a result of instant and
uncontrollable circumstances with anyone whose
loved one is battling terminal cancer.  God did shine
His merciful grace down upon me as well as my mom
to allow me this precious time of sharing with her. 
Yet, after her death, I realized I still had one more
unanswered question that Mama and no one else
could answer.  My mama took her first job outside the
home when Gary was a senior in high school.  I guess
she saw the light at the end of Gary’s tunnel and knew
he would be able to walk off the stage at Kate Finley
Auditorium with diploma in hand.  Mama always told
everyone that she graduated from high school four
times.  Gary, Ken, and I could not argue that point.     

  R.W. Company hired Mama as a seamstress.  If an
item was on the rack and a clothing salesman could
sell it, Mama could make it tailor fit regardless of size. 
She performed her job with such speed that she was
able to slip down on the sales floor and sale.  It was
not long before Sheriff Goodman realized he could not
afford to keep Mama as a seamstress.  He promoted
Mama to sales.  Many women in Rockingham could
sew but none could sell like my mama.  Mama’s
combined experience of both jobs was extremely
beneficial to my brothers and me.  Mama was the first
to know when the store promoted a clothing sale.  It
was her job to change prices on items.  She knew
which items would be marked down several times
until they were sold.  As a result, I wore stylish top
quality slacks to NC State, many at a cost of only five
dollars each.  You can forget that the last mark down
table only held colors such as lavender, turquoise,
yellow, or orange.  I wore the finest made slacks in the
industry and fitted by my own personal tailor.  This
trend continued on throughout my adult life.  I left
Rockingham many times with a new article of clothing
that just happened to be on sale at Goodman’s.  Of
course, it was always a perfect fit.  Mama did make
one major and very appreciated change since my
days at NC State.  Now that Daddy and Mama had no
college tuitions to pay or three kids raiding the
Frigidaire refrigerator, Mama bought Gary, Ken, and
me items at the first mark down sale.  One could no
longer see us coming.  All of this discussion leads up
to the one question I never asked Mama.  “What is my
inseam length?”  That answer was buried with Mama. 
How could I ever buy an unaltered pair of pants again?

  Two months later, Daddy pulls up into my yard. 
When he walks in, he is carrying a R.W. Goodman bag
with the following explanation: “Bob, I found this bag
in the top of your mama’s closet.  It has two pair of
pants in it.  I thought maybe they were either for Gary
or Ken but both told me these pants were not their
size and they are definitely not mine.  The waist is too
small and the length is too long.”

  “Hand me the bag, Pop.  If they fit, I will take them.”  I
slipped the first pair on and they fit like a glove.  “Well
this pair will not go back to Rockingham.  “Let me try
on the second pair.”  Bingo!  “Gee thanks, I really like
this pair.  I am going to wear these to work tomorrow.”

  “Minnie Pearl, take your price tags off before you
do!” laughed Sally.  “You look as ridiculous as she
does.  Both pair still have the tags on them.”

  “Don’t worry.  I’ll do it right now.”  I had not even
noticed a tag on either pair.  I ripped the tag off of the
pair I had on.  I am sure Mama bought them on sale. 
Even though both pair were gifts to me, I was curious
as to what retail price was on these quality pants.  I
was stunned when I read the label; it was not the
price of the pants that shocked me but what was
written on the label that floored me.  Written in Mama’
s handwriting was my answer, “31 ".”  Yes, heaven is
real.  One of God’s angels had just sent me a note
through her messenger, Daddy. 

  The words Mama said to me when we were alone in
Presbyterian Hospital came back to me that day.  “I
am so fortunate.  Nothing has been left unsaid.  God is
good!”  God is indeed good.  My brothers and I were
very fortunate to be brought up in a Christian home by
two of the Godliest people I have ever known.  They
have done their job.  I just hope we can do our jobs.  I
know God and one of His Heavenly Host are watching
from above.  Merry Christmas!