There is a legend in the quiet coastal town of Norumbega,
Maine, that every Christmas two angels stand on the mountain overlooking the
village and continue a debate that has raged through the centuries. One angel
recounts the losses of the year that have hit each family. The other angel counts the blessings. Some tell the story favoring the Dark Angel
and the fact that life is a tragedy.
Others, the eternal optimists, favor the Other Angel, insisting that
life is comedy and that somehow things will work out. Most people in the town were somewhere in
between.
On this one particular Christmas Eve, the Dark Angel pointed
its long, skeletal finger at a small cottage on the edge of town and uttered
the words that it repeated each year:
"All that begins, must end." The Other Angel said nothing but
looked down upon the cottage framed by the falling snow.
Margaret Makepeace swore as she burned her finger on the tea
kettle screaming on the stove. She ran the finger under the cold water and
thought about the Christmas Day that faced her the next morning
It would be her first Christmas without Harold. They had
been married 45 years. It had not been an easy marriage but it had been a good
one. Grief had brought them together at the halfway point of their union. Their
only child, Richard, had been a troubled young man, with substance abuse
problems. He had enlisted for Desert Storm and was killed days before he was
due to return. People talk about what the death of a child does to a marriage.
Lots of couples, she had read, split up after a tragedy like that. Harold and
Margaret had grown closer. When Harold had passed away in March from a brain
aneurism, her world had come to an end. She was going through the motions of
the holidays but felt like an empty ornament.
There really was no one else to fill the void, no family at
least. She had church friends. They were
great. Her only surviving relative, her older sister, was in a home in
California. She no longer remembered who
Margaret was. For all extents and purposes, as far as family was concerned,
Margaret Makepeace was alone in the world. She poured her tea and sat in her
living room, next to her undecorated tree, looking out at the
drifting snow.
Back on the mountain, the Dark Angel lowered his arm and
then turned to the Other Angel , his shadowed face solemn with the conviciton
of a case closed. The Other Angel turned
back towards the Makepeace cottage, lifted his arm and said: "And all that
is lost shall be found again."
A brown UPS truck drove up to Margaret's front door. The
driver tucked a large thin envelope under his arm, walked up the walkway and
rang the bell.
Margaret opened the door. She smiled at the driver and took the envelope
from him. She put it on the table beside her tea. What was this about? Could it
be something related to Harold's estate? She looked at the return address. It
simply said L. Andrews, Worcester, MA. She opened the envelope and pulled out
the contents.
Dear Mrs. Makepeace,
My name is Lisa Andrews.
I was born in 1991 to Vicky Marcello and Richard Makepeace. My mother Vicky
knew my father only briefly before he left for the gulf war in 1991 and had me
after my father died in that war. She put me up for adoption just before she
herself died of an overdose. I was raised by a wonderful family who loved me
and helped me get a good education. I graduated from university this past May
with a degree in social work. I now work with young moms in the Worcester area
who are coping with the challenges of being single parents. I have met a
wonderful man and we are engaged to be married in the spring.
Over the last few
years I have been curious about my birth mother and father. With my adopted
family's blessing and help I decided to find out about my past. I was able to discover
my parents’ names but could not find any trace of my mother’s family. I did
find out about you and your husband, however, and wondered if we could talk on
the phone. I realize you might think this is some kind of scam. I assure you,
however, it is not. I was so overjoyed to find out that I have family,
particularly grandparents, that I just
had to try and make contact. Please call my number below if you would like to
talk and I can help allay any fears you may have about whether this is genuine
or not. If you decide not to follow up
on this, I will respect your decision and not bother you again.
Your loving Granddaughter,
Lisa
Margaret looked at the attached picture. Lisa was a beautiful girl. She looked exactly like Richard. What if it was true? Is it possible that
something of him had survived? That she had Family? She sat in silence for what
seemed like a glacial age, glanced at the letter once again and picked up the
phone.
Back on the mountain, the Other Angel lowered his hand and
looked at the Dark Angel. Point and Counterpoint. They stared at each other in silence. They
would go through this exercise for another several hours. They would point at each house in Norumbega
and follow the script that had just played out. For it was Christmas, a time
when the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy had inaugurated a new age. A time when the great argument about whether
life was a tragedy or a comedy had entered its final round. A time when the world of loss and death was itself dying and a
world of new surprises and never ending
stories was being born.
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