One small church and one big family spend each Christmas season sending gifts to children across the world. But this year, my family and I spent it in solemn remembrance of a lost loved one.
December 23, 2022 | Story and photos by Abigail Hasebroock
My parents, Andrew Hasebroock and Megan Dunne, were just friends during the 1998 fall semester at the University of Florida.
They met through involvement with the campus ministry Gator Christian Life (GCL). Both joined after escaping abusive childhoods, coming to college and finding freedom in Christianity.
Andrew, 21, was a runner who barely hit 140 pounds and sported a goatee and buzz cut. He was reserved, serious. Megan, 20, had long brown hair and blue eyes. She was outgoing, friendly.
The two first came in contact with Operation Christmas Child (OCC) when GCL encouraged its members to pack boxes. Megan and Andrew each built a box.
OCC is a project created by the humanitarian organization Samaritan’s Purse. Volunteers fill cardboard boxes the size of standard shoeboxes with items like stuffed animals, toothbrushes and toothpaste, soap, clothing and toys that are then distributed to children and their families in developing countries for Christmas.
The platonic pair would never have known what their first year with the project would blossom into. Their 23 years of marriage produced five children and more than 10,000 OCC boxes. My dad keeps count – of the boxes, that is.
My dad still barely hits 140 pounds. My mom has even longer brown hair, though gray streaks now complement it. It does not stop people from telling us we look like sisters.
Those 10,000 Christmas parcels would not be possible without my siblings and me, though. When we were younger, my parents would bring us on stage at Christ Community Church in Tampa, Florida, and tout us as “personal shoppers” to persuade people to make boxes or donate money to the project.
Nothing used to make me more nervous. I’d stand awkwardly, gripping a poster board sign as the ceiling lights bore into my soul. I’d avert my gaze anywhere but the lights or the crowd, which usually meant staring at the ugly blue carpet or my dad as he spoke.
It was worth it, though. People are inspired by cute little kids. As the years progressed, I eventually wore the title of personal shopper with pride.
In 2017, we moved to a different church, a blue and white building also in Tampa called Oakwood Community Church. We brought OCC with us, and the congregation there was eager to adopt it.
The packing process typically begins in November with what is called a “packing party.” Tables lined with the supplies create an assembly line of sorts: You take an empty box and then follow the trail, picking items from each section until the box is filled. Then, the box creator tapes a label to the box and adds a couple of rubber bands to keep everything intact.
My mom usually plays Christmas music. People catch up and chat about their holiday plans.
Even after I left Tampa to attend my parents’ alma mater in Gainesville in 2019, I still came home for the packing parties.
My uncle Adam and aunt Yvette always came, too.
Adam was my dad’s identical twin brother. He had always been instrumental to OCC. He and Yvette hosted packing parties in their driveway, where we would snack on bagels and chat with their neighbors. Even in 2020, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, they hosted one safely outside.
When they were not directly serving the ministry, Adam and Yvette were collecting box items, storing them in their home and donating money to Samaritan’s Purse.
He was integral not only to OCC but also to the Hasebroock family – so much so that I wished him ‘Happy Father’s Day’ each year because he was like a second dad to my siblings and me.
After Sunday night dinners at Sweet Tomatoes, my siblings and I would fight about who would receive a piggyback ride first on the walk back to the restaurant’s parking lot. He went to every one of my high school swim meets and every one of my brother’s track and cross country races. He usually showed up in a button down shirt, pants, a tie and loafers because he would drive directly from his job as a banker.
During my first triathlon last summer, Adam finished his race and then ran the entire last leg by my side, telling me stories to keep my mind away from running.
But in November 2021, he was killed in a vehicular homicide by a driver going more than 50 miles above the speed limit. He was only 43.
He was so important to the Regions banking branch he worked at that it shut down a few weeks after he died. And my aunt has received letters from some of his customers who grieve the loss of not just someone they consulted with but someone they considered a friend.
So, with the one-year anniversary of his death landing Friday, Nov. 4, my parents saw it only fitting to host this year’s packing party and its preparation on Nov. 5 and 6.
The packing party this year was more somber than it normally is, and it might always be that way. But we’ve agreed the best way we can honor Adam is by serving others.
It’s what he spent his whole life doing.
