ORMOND BEACH -- Tom and Kathy Davis are standing arm-in-arm by the living-room fireplace, enjoying their biggest and best Christmas present of all.

Four of their children and three of their grandchildren have traveled from Michigan and Atlanta, bringing with them life's most powerful elixir -- a family's love.

All morning, the townhouse is filled with life and laughter. Thoughts about death and dying, for now, are as distant as a Midwestern snowstorm.
"This is the best Christmas of my life," says Tom, 71, whose once-athletic body has become stone-like in the past two months. "I couldn't ask for anything better."

The villain is amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a terminal illness better known as Lou Gehrig's disease. On his worst days, Tom cannot take more than a few steps without leaning on someone or something for balance.

"This is not easy for the kids. I know what they see when they're looking at me," he says. "I know they're disturbed by it."

The children, three each from previous marriages, do their best to mask their sadness and concern. Alone, they worry about Tom's deteriorating health and how Kathy, who is blind, will manage when he is gone.

But this is not a day for despair. It is Christmas.

"You all look at Tom's new FSU sweater," Kathy shouts from the stairway, supporting her husband, as Rosie her guide dog stands by her side.

Although a native Georgian, Kathy, who started losing her vision as a child, is a devout supporter of her alma mater's football team. And after 11 years of marriage, Tom has become an even more avid fan of Florida State University.

"They had a real bad year, but they'll be back next year," he predicts, flashing his signature grin. "Just watch."

On the outside, Tom continues to look toward to the future. But as his condition worsens, he wonders if one day on the 2003 calendar will be his last.

He knows the odds are against him. Death often occurs within a year or two after being diagnosed with ALS. The disease ultimately shuts down the body, while the mind remains sharp and fully functional.

This May will mark a year for Tom, a retired math professor, although he suspects the disease surfaced about two years ago, first weakening his right hand.

"I don't know if I'll be around next Christmas," he says.

That's why seeing his children -- and he considers Kathy's children his own -- was so uplifting.

"It was really special," he says. "They haven't been here for Christmas before."

Danny Davis, his wife and two young children made the 19-hour drive from Michigan in a van to see his father. It was Danny's fourth trip in a year, either by van or airplane.

A few months ago, he ran in a marathon in Detroit and raised more than $1,000 in the name of his father and ALS.

"He's more frail now. He's declining physically. But his spirits are higher," says Danny, who last saw his father in August. "The Lord is connecting to him big time, touching his heart."

Danny, who turns 42 this month, acknowledges that his father's swift decline has weighed heavily on his mind. Not so long ago, he recalls playing tennis against his dad, a lifelong athlete who enjoyed getting in a few sets every day.

"I could not return his serve, even at that age," Danny says. "Then this. It's sad. It hits home about this life. You put things in perspective."

Just the other day, Danny had to lift his father off the floor after he tripped over an electrical cord.

"He couldn't get up," Danny says with a sigh. "He has no strength."

Danny is planning to make a solo return trip in the late winter and drive his family down again during Spring Break. His two brothers Mark and Kevin, who also visited with his wife and son, live in Michigan, too.

"We're close even though we are geographically apart," Danny says of his father. "The toughest thing for all of us is to not be by him. I'd like to see him every day. But we (Tom's sons) have kids of our own."

Dana Davis, a physical therapist in South Florida, tries to visit her mother and Tom once a month. The three of them have a long history. Dana introduced Kathy and Tom when she was a student at Daytona Beach Community College. Kathy remains a counselor there and Tom retired as a math professor last year.

"I lived with them for several years. I'm very close to Tom. He's not my real father, but he's like a second father to me," she says. "So I feel bad I'm not there. I think I carry most of the guilt."

After much prodding, Dana, 35, convinced Tom and Kathy to get professional home health care, and now oversees the payment of his medical bills. Her brother Brad, who unsuccessfully tried to transfer his job with an electric company from Atlanta to Daytona Beach, is helping take care of the couple's finances.

"It was like climbing a mountain getting Tom to agree," Dana says, laughing. "He's as stubborn as a mule."'

Attempts to talk Tom and Kathy into moving to either South Florida or Atlanta, where her sister Laura also lives, have failed.

"They are tied to the community in Ormond Beach," she says. "But it is hard on us."

Dana makes the four-hour drive up the day after Christmas, joining her sister, brother and two of Tom's sons.

That night after dinner, the entire family heads over to Tomoka Christian Church, just down the road from Tom and Kathy's place.

It is where they attend services every Sunday.

The pastor, the Rev. Joe Putting, calls the couple to the front of the church. Only Tom and Kathy's children and grandchildren are seated in the pews.

It is a special night that no one attending will forget. Tom and Kathy are renewing their wedding vows.

There are no fancy cars or clothes, just simple, heartfelt words, sentiments that seem so much more profound given the tribulations this husband and wife have endured from her benign brain tumor to his ALS.

Tom and Kathy, standing hand-in-hand, again take each other "in joy and in sorrow and in sickness and in health for as long as we both shall live."

Tears of joy and sadness fill the eyes of several family members.

"I pronounce again that you are husband and wife," Putting announces.

Tom turns and kisses his bride.

"I've been waiting for this all night," he says, laughing.

Leaving the church, Kathy pauses, reflecting on the moment.

"You know, marriage isn't all about moonlight and roses. It's about challenges. And no one knows when the challenge is going to come," she says. "I feel even more convinced that I am the luckiest woman in the world. I know Tom loves me unconditionally. I'd do it all again, even with the ALS. I savor every single day with Tom."

ray.weiss@news-jrnl.com

"Close scrutiny will show that most 'crisis situations' are opportunities to either advance, or stay where you are." Dr. Maxwell Maltz