This montage blends the readings of the story my friend wrote for Christmas in the Heartland.

Mary's Baby Boy (YouTube)

Mary's Baby Boy (Sendspace)

Mary's Baby Boy

A week before Christmas in 2003, my son was in a terrible car wreck. The police woke me up at 1 a.m. and rushed me to the emergency room. I held my son's hand and saw his life flash before my eyes. Then he died.

A few family and friends gathered at my house and sat in shock, looking at one another without saying a word, not believing what had happened. I sat looking at the Christmas gifts under the tree, some of which would never be opened by my son. After most of the friends left for their homes, the anger hit me. I rushed over, grabbed the Christmas tree and dragged it outside and threw it as hard as I could. Some neighbors were outside about to get in their cars to go to work, and they just stood looking at me, probably thinking I had lost my mind.

By the next Christmas, I had thrown away all the ornaments, lights, tinsel, and wrapping paper. I tried to avoid Christmas, which I found impossible to do. I heard Christmas carols on the car radio, all sorts of Christmas inserts arrived daily in my newspaper, the grocery store played "O Come All Ye Faithful" as I tried to buy groceries, and "A Wonderful Life" was on the TV about 47 times. When someone said "Merry Christmas" to me I would mumble "Same to you" and retreat as soon as I could.

I was bemoaning the fact that it was impossible to escape from Christmas when one of my son's friends told me that my son would have wanted me to celebrate it. I thought about it a lot over the next few days and then went to the closet where I always kept the Christmas decorations, forgetting what I had done to rid myself of all associations to the holiday. All that was left in the closet was a Nativity scene that a dear, elderly neighbor had given to my son when he was 6 years old. And one plastic icicle. So I pulled the small Mary, Joseph, and Jesus out and put it up in the living room. I hung the plastic icicle from the chain on the ceiling fan. That would be the extent of my Christmas celebration this year.

As Christmas drew closer, I visited with family members and watched them with their families, opening presents, talking, and laughing over old memories. I planted a fake smile on my face and braved the joy and laughter. I had to turn off my emotions at the door of everywhere I went. It was better to feel nothing than to ruin everyone else's happy holidays. I bought presents for those closest to me and wrapped them in blue paper with stars on it, which looked more like a gift from the Dallas Cowboys than a real Christamas present.

After all the gatherings that I had attended, I suddenly found myself alone on Christmas day. Just me and the Nativity scene.

I sat looking around at the quiet room and felt numb. And alone. And sad. And then my gaze fell on the Nativity scene, and I realized that I had never looked closely at it in the 20 years that I had put it up every Christams along with the many other decorations. It usually had its place beside the deer with the red bow around its neck. What I saw that Christmas day was a mother and a child. It touched me. I started to see Mary as a gentle mother standing over the crib full of straw where she was watching over her son. And I began to wonder.

I touched her blue robes and her sweet smile and thought, "Did you have a difficult delivery of this baby? Did you tell him stories and sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to him? Did you watch in amazement at how fast he grew into a young man? Did he fill your life with love and joy before he left way too soon? Then I found myself pouring out my heart to her as I told her everything about myself. I shared my pain with her and took the pain of losing her son as part of my own. And I cried for her.

I thought of all the other people that were in the same position as I was. Millions of people who had loved and lost someone, whether it was a son, a mother, a father, or a good friend, and were trying to survive the Christmas holidays just like me. Sadly, I realized that I was not alone at all.And I cried for them too.

All of a sudden I was enveloped in a blanket of Love that wrapped around me, held me close, and would not let me go, and I was surrounded by a sense of Peace that I had never known before. At that moment, I knew that everything would be okay. I would survive this unbelievable test of my faith because of a mother's love. The kind of love so strong it helped Mary survive beyond her own loss, with help from her son, the lamb of God, the baby boy born in a manger.