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The gift I would most like to return

For Christmas yesterday, Riley received a set of Magna-Tiles, a pint-sized rocking chair, some sketch pads, a hand-crankable flashlight, an easel, a Carthartt jacket, and . . . a skyrocketing fever, accompanied by a hacking, worrisomely deep-chested cough.

By early evening, I was holding his half-sleeping body in my arms-taking guilty pleasure at the rare quiet chance to be needed, and to provide comfort-dipping my hand into a bowl of ice in order to place cool fingers on his raging-hot forehead. It was one of those time when you're starting to get more and more concerned about whether or not the fever will continue to climb, and you begin to map out hospital routes in your head, while all the while praying you don't have to do anything of the kind.

I'm not a spiritual person and I don't really celebrate the Christian meaning of Christmas, exactly, but yesterday I wanted nothing for myself, I only wanted for someone I love. If this holiday has a true meaning for me, it has never been more evident than sitting on a couch with a sick little boy tonight, surrounded by family who shared the worry and were there to help.

I love presents and I love giving presents, but in a heartbeat the tinsel and boxes and wrapping paper can cease to hold meaning, and the things that really matter become so perfectly clear.

Riley seems much better now, he's sleeping and hopefully getting the rest he needs to fight off this cold. In turn, I hope your holiday has been full of joy, love, peace, and good health.

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