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    A Christmas Visitor
    A Christmas Visitor
    A Christmas Visitor
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    A Christmas Visitor

    By Richard E. Maxwell Sr.

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Have you lost a loved one? Do you wish they could still be with you? Your loved one could be looking over your shoulder this very minute. Let me help you realize the fact they never left you when they died. This story about the Marshal Family, will help you manage your greiving process and assure you that you are not alone. The story helped me as I wrote it, and it will help you too. All you need is an open mind and a loving heart.

    God Bless You.
    Richard
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateAug 12, 2013
    ISBN9781481763912
    A Christmas Visitor
    Author

    Richard E. Maxwell Sr.

    The last seven years, I have been mourning the loss of my father, a man, who with a very limited education, was the smartest man I ever knew. Dad loved to read. It didn’t matter what he was reading; he just loved to read. With his constant desire for the printed word, he managed to teach himself about the world and all that it contains. National Geographics was his favorite. Every issue delivered to Dad’s front door was read from cover to cover, then stored neatly in the barrister bookcase I made for him in my wood shop. After Dad passed away, I was being pressured to write this story, not by anyone living, but by Dad himself. He would keep me awake at night urging me to put this story on paper. Night after night Dad would feed me ideas as to how the story line would progress. In August of 2012, I gave into my father’s wishes, and started to write this story. I have enjoyed every minute of every day that I have spent at this keyboard writing this tale for you. For me, it has been a way to spend a little more time with my dad, even though he is no longer sharing his time here on earth with his loving family. This is the first time I have ever put word to paper. I hope you enjoy reading about the Marshal Family, but what would make this endeavor a success for me, is after reading it, you would take the time to meditate about the little, sometimes unexplainable things, that have happened in your lives after losing a loved one. I hope this little story will help you realize, as it did for me, your loved one, though no longer physically with you, will always be with you, and alive in your heart. I’d like to give you an example. My dad died the 10th of December 2005. Around the 10th of each month since his passing, I have been finding dimes, on the ground, in the car, in the house, and on the floor in stores. Is this a coincidence? I don’t think so. My father is letting me know that he is still with me and looking out for me. I just wish he would up my allowance from ten cents, to ten dollars. Having finished writing this story, I have also finished my grieving process. I have come to realize that my father is with me always, and alive in my heart. Thank you and God bless you.

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      Book preview

      A Christmas Visitor - Richard E. Maxwell Sr.

      © 2013 by Richard E. Maxwell, Sr. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      Published by AuthorHouse 08/05/2013

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-6392-9 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-6391-2 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2013910810

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Contents

      About The Author

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Acknowledgments

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      img01.jpg

      The last seven years, I have been mourning the loss of my father, a man, who with a very limited education, was the smartest man I ever knew. Dad loved to read. It didn’t matter what he was reading; he just loved to read. With his constant desire for the printed word, he managed to teach himself about the world and all that it contains. National Geographics were his favorite. Every issue delivered to Dad’s front door was read from cover to cover, then stored neatly in the barrister bookcase I made for him in my wood shop.

      After Dad passed away, I was being pressured to write this story, not by anyone living, but by Dad himself. He would keep me awake at night urging me to put this story on paper. Night after night Dad would feed me ideas as to how the story line would progress. In August of 2012, I gave into my father’s wishes, and started to write this story. I have enjoyed every minute of every, day that I have spent at this keyboard writing this tale for you. For me, it has been a way to spend a little more time with my dad, even though he is no longer sharing his time here on earth with his loving family.

      This is the first time I have ever put word to paper. I hope you enjoy reading about the Marshal Family, but what would make this endeavor a success for me, is after reading it, you would take the time to meditate about the little, sometimes unexplainable things, that have happened in your lives after losing a loved one. I hope this little story will help you realize, as it did for me, your loved one, though no longer physically with you, will always be with you, and alive in your heart. I’d like to give you an example. My dad died the 10th of December, 2005. Around the 10th of each month since his passing, I have been finding dimes, on the ground, in the car, in the house, and on the floor in stores. Is this a coincidence? I don’t think so. My father is letting me know that he is still with me and looking out for me. I just wish he would up my allowance from ten cents, to ten dollars.

      Having finished writing this story, I have also finished my grieving process. I have come to realize that my father is with me always, and alive in my heart.

      Thank you and God bless you.

      This book is dedicated

      In Loving Memory of my father

      Joseph Edward Maxwell

      May his spirit live on in my heart and

      on the pages of this book.

      Thanks for helping me write it dad.

      img02.jpg

      Chapter 1

      sub_img.jpg

      As I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, I looked over at the clock on my dresser for about the fortieth time. The big red numbers told me that it was only 5:45 a.m. There was no use staying in bed any longer, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. So I may as well get up and get started with another ho hum day. I put on my slippers and reached for my robe, then made my way downstairs to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. With the coffee brewing, I searched the cabinet for something to settle my stomach. Last night’s TV dinner had my stomach churning and my throat burning, which had robbed me of a good night’s sleep. Ah, there it is, that beautiful blue bottle of bubbly liquid that will relieve me of last night’s self induced torture called dinner. One problem though, I forgot how much to take. Have you ever read a Bromo-Seltzer bottle at six o’clock in the morning? BOOOORING. I’m not sure if the print has gotten smaller, or my eyes aren’t fully open yet, but it’s awful hard to read this small print. Maybe if I had started to read it earlier, I would have had a good night sleep. Heck with it, I’ll just take a good healthy swig.

      Wiping the dribbles from the side of my mouth on the sleeve of my robe, I looked toward the window and noticed that the sky was starting to brighten. The coffee had finished brewing, so I poured myself a cup and gazed out the window at the new day that was about to change my dismal lonely life. It was a cold December morning. The frost was so heavy that it appeared to have snowed overnight. A soft haze covered the pasture down below. I gathered the top of my robe and held it closed as I ventured out to the front porch to drink my coffee. The air was so still, that it wasn’t very cold at all. In fact, it was rather pleasant. The air was crisp and clean, and easy to breath. I don’t know if it was the Bromo or the clean air, but I was starting to feel better already. Having finished my coffee, I retreated to the kitchen to pour another cup. While inside, I searched the cabinets for a package of snack cakes. I found an apple Danish. Great, this will go perfectly with the coffee, I thought. With cake and coffee in hand, I went back out on the porch to enjoy the developing morning scene. The Danish hit the spot, as well as the front of my robe, which was now covered with crumbs. The only thing left was my now half cup of coffee. I was feeling much better. The rising sun warmed the morning air, making it quite comfortable on the porch. I even closed my eyes for a moment. You might say I was checking my eyelids for holes. Okay, I dosed off for a second or two or three… you get the picture. I fell asleep on the porch.

      Off in the distance, I heard the familiar sound of backfiring from Frank’s old mail truck. Since I had some Christmas cards to mail, I went back into the house to get them. The plan was to hand them to Frank as he gave me my usual handful of junk mail. As I was walking down the driveway toward the road, I could hear that Frank was getting closer. Just as I reached the end of the drive, Frank rolled up with a very loud BANG. That old truck looked as bad as it sounded. The paint was peeling, rust was everywhere, it looked as though it hadn’t been washed in years. However, it still served it’s purpose which was to assist in the distribution of the mail and to tote it’s plump little driver over his prescribed route. As my old friend approached, we exchanged pleasantries.

      Good morning Frank.

      Good morning Dick.

      Do me a favor, Frank

      Sure, if I can.

      "Please, do not get this old truck tuned up. I’ll never know when, or IF you deliver my mail.

      By the way, how many BPH do you get with this old thing?"

      BPH? What’s BPH? I never heard of that.

      Bangs per Hour, Frank.

      We both laughed as we exchanged the mail we had for each other.

      Dick, you sure do get a lot of junk mail.

      Yeah Frank, I think I’m going to put up another box just to handle the junk mail. It will be made of galvanized steel, round, with two handles, and will be lined with a plastic bag. When you sort my mail, you can put the First class stuff in the old small box and the other crap in the new one.

      We both laughed again.

      "You know when Liz was alive, she liked to order things through the mail. It made her happy to get those packages you delivered. The only problem is that now every Tom, Dick and Harry who sells anything through the mail, has my

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