The First Noel - 1. Prologue

I was born on Christmas day, right at noon, smack-dab in the middle of a big pile of Christmas presents sitting on the end of my mother’s bed in the hospital. Everyone said it was a miracle, a blessing from someone watching from above, and at first I thought so too. I liked being able to say Christmas when everyone else asked when’s your birthday? I liked seeing the astonishment in everyone’s faces, liked watching as their eyes lit up with a blend of pleasant surprise and envy at the idea of being born on such a bountiful holiday. It made me feel special, a cut above the rest—if not a hundred and three more—and, of course, the extra presents were always nice too.

But the allure of gifts and being more special than everyone else was lost the year I turned thirteen.

Was lost the day I turned thirteen.

Was lost because he had the nerve to just up and walk right out of my life, without even giving me a chance to say what my heart so desperately needed to cry out, what I had so nervously scrawled on the card I tied to the Christmas gift I so carefully picked out for him from his favorite book store down the street.

You can’t feel special with a shattered heart.

In fact, I thought I’d never feel special again.

So you’d imagine my absolute shock when five Christmas days, five birthdays, five long years without him by my side later, that all began to change.

I love you, Adrian.