The Heart's Connection

Belinda Llamas hasn’t celebrated Christmas in seven years. Christmas stole her husband Noel, twins Blyss and Nigel away from her. So, she blocks the door to Christmas and its attachments in her heart. As an Advertising Executive, she would refuse all Ads related to Christmas. She would watch no TV, nor listen to and look at anything that promotes or advertises Christmas. At the start of December, she would ask to work from home. Then on December 24, she would leave New York and go to her cabin in the Rockies. A place where Christmas and its pain won’t be able to reach her. She sends no Christmas cards and accepts none.

No one would be able to reach her until January 3 the following year when she returned. This routine continued for seven years. Seven painful years after the accident on Christmas Day and her twin’s seventh birthday, took all three of them away from her. She remembered how happy she was that they were born on Jesus’s birthday.

December 2019 started like every other December. Her plans went smoothly like a train going on its tracks. She would call the caretaker of the cabin one week before, instructing him what to do and what to purchase for her. According to the weatherman, a snowstorm was heading for New York on the 24th. She called the Airline and changed her flight to the 23rd. Knowing that a snowstorm will cripple the city trapping her in NY for Christmas.

With a small Carryon bag and her handbag, she was ready. The taxi came on time. She exits her apartment building on First Avenue, ignoring the signals from her cellphone, as the snow rapidly announces its presence. The cab pulls away slowly cruising as the snow began to rage heavier and faster. Her cellphone kept calling out to her. She ignores it, her thoughts on the weatherman, as an image forms in her mind, her hands around his neck in anger. He lied about the weather. The driver cruises for a while, then he slowly stops. Looking out, they were on Delancey Street. She notices many cars stalled on the side of the road packed with snow.

The cab starts to crawl, passing buses parked on both sides of the road. The driver spoke for the first time, “the snowstorm decides to visit us early. I think your flight might be canceled,” he suggests.

“I’ll pay you double to get me to the Airport,” she bargains.

“Look around us, Mam? The heavy snow is causing poor visibility that could result in an accident.”

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Near the Williamsburg Bridge,” he replies, reaching for his dispatch radio as a signal alerts him. He listens for a while, then said to her replacing his radio.

“All flights are canceled; the storm is on its way. I can’t take you back to Manhattan. But I can take you to a hotel if you want me to,” he offered. “A few of them are around here.”

In anger, she opens the door of the cab, walking away into the snow. She could hear him calling her telling her she left her Carryon. Anger, disappointment, and fear fuel her rage at the thought of being trapped in New York for Christmas. She kept walking aimlessly as snowflakes pelt her hair and everywhere it could hit, cold biting into her. Not knowing or caring where she was going.

Tired, cold, and in tears from walking too long, she stops, surveying her surroundings. She notices a few feet ahead the snow was coming down in flurries. Looking behind her, it was raging. It was like she was in a different dimension.

She kept on going until she saw a line of children exiting a van parked in front of a toy store, a lady instructing them, “stay inline children, no rushing.”

She stops as the last child exits, one of her legs were shorter than the other, and she wore a Lift shoe on the shorter leg. She moves slowly, then stops looking up at Belinda, she asks, “Why are you sad?”

The lady attempts to scold her when these words jump from Belinda’s mouth, “What’s your name?”

“I am Blyss Noel,” she answers smiling.

The door to her heart creaks, as she stared at her in shock.

The lady steps in saying, “We are from the St. Anne’s orphanage. Every year Wilson’s toy store treats them to toys at Christmas.”

Belinda didn’t know what came over her as, “Can I help?” slips out of her mouth, as the door she blocks seven years ago, creaks again in warning.

“Oh yes,” the lady quickly said. “My name is Nigella Hopkins and I am a Social Worker for the Orphanage,” extending her right hand.

Her heart racing as one of the inches on the door to her heart came apart. She introduces herself accepting the courtesy.

She felt something running through her body, as more inches fall off the door when the child touches her hand, leading her into the store chattering, “my name means happiness so I can’t be sad. Plus, I was born on Christmas day along with Jesus. I will be seven years old.”

That stops Belinda’s heart, along with the realization, that she entered the world, the same day her daughter with the same name exited. On Christmas Day! The door bursts open without pain, but the electricity from Blyss’s touch restarts it.

Hours later she sat inside the office of the Director of the Orphanage.

“Thank you for helping us. May I ask why?”

She recounts the day’s events, hiding some of the truth, tears rolling down, then asks, “Is she up for adoption?”

“Oh yes, but because of her injuries in the accident that caused both parents and her twin brother’s life on Christmas day two years ago, no one wants to adopt a disabled child.”

The tears rush down as her body rocks side to side, and the door to her heart bursts open, and these words exit along with pain, “she lost so much, and she still let happiness in.”

“That’s why she is so loved around here. She is the happiest and kindest child in this place of sorrow for many children,” the Director agrees. “Despite her situation.”

“Her name means happiness,” Belinda shares as happiness fills her heart. Thinking of the circumstances that connect them and the coincidence of the time, similarities of the name, birthdate, even the Social Worker’s Christian name. It was like something or someone was giving her a second chance. Whatever it was that was pulling her in, the happiness she felt when Blyss touched her hand, she wanted to follow. For the first time in seven years, she felt that feeling she had before the accident and her life was perfect. Perfection or not, Fate was in charge and she held on as a voice said, ‘and the child shall lead.’

Children and animals have mastered the art of happiness, breaking down hatred in many hearts, including mine.

What about you?

Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoyed it.