Richard’s Gifts

By Robert Schloss

For the Deseret News 2003

Christmas is a time for family. My family has traditions of doing nice things for the neighbors. Christmas has always been a happy and joyous time. I guess that's why a particular Christmas, 31 years ago in Heber City, Utah, was so different. No one expected the death of the youngest child to change everything.

My youngest brother Richard was just 18 months old. He was a joy for all. The excitement of seeing his response to his second Christmas was the center of the family's attention. I was a new teenager, 13, and the oldest.

I vividly remember that morning, Dec. 7, 1971. I was at home with pneumonia. Richard had cried during the night with a fever. Mom had been up with him during the night, so she was behind schedule getting breakfast. Dad went in to check on Richard and found him lifeless in his crib.

My parents rushed to the hospital down the street. My other brother, sister and I helplessly watched them drive off. The only thing I could think of was to have us kneel and pray.

Everything possible was done to try to save Richard. The doctor figured it was a "crib death" — SIDS.

The loss of our little brother and son was hard on the family. The funeral came and went. No one was really excited about Christmas.

Finally, my 4-year-old sister brought up the question of what we were going to do with Richard's gifts.

Dad came home the next night and told us about a family he knew who was having a difficult time. They had three small children. Why not play Santa and give them a Christmas with Richard's presents?

The idea gave new life to my family. I didn't get involved because I didn't care. But something pulled the rest of my family out of sorrow. Like little elves, they began to work gathering gifts for the family.

To make matters worse, my family decided to give a program to the people in "long-term care" at the hospital — on Christmas Eve! I thought it was a plot to totally ruin my Christmas. "What about the specials on television that night?"

The kitchen was filled with smells of goodies for friends and neighbors. I thought Mom was crazy baking so much.

Dad gave me the parent-child lecture on the true spirit of Christmas —  'Tis better to give than receive." That only turned me colder. If God would take a little baby away at this time of year, I didn't believe he really loved or cared for us.

Christmas Eve arrived. Mom and the other two children delivered goodies to the neighbors. I got dressed — and sent back to change. Isn't a red football jersey festive enough?

We arrived at the hospital early, but the old men and women were already waiting for us. Some old man came out of his room fussing about having to leave his television.

The program was simple. We played songs on chimes, told stories and sang Christmas carols. Dad read the story of the Christ Child while my younger brother and sister acted out Mary and Joseph. I didn't see a dry eye, except for that old man and myself.

Mom had helped the children make a gift for each person. They started handing them out. I was drafted into helping to take people to their rooms. I went to the old gentleman who had made such a fuss earlier. I handed him a little gift as any unfeeling teenager might and said, "Here ya go, mister." I had a smirk on my face.

He looked up at me. The smirk faded as I saw his tears. Carefully, he unwrapped the little package, revealing a small snowman made of white yarn balls. "I have a grandson about your age," he said. "I haven't seen him for years." He must live somewhere far away, I thought. He went on, "He lives down in Salt Lake and likes to play football. Do you like to play football?"

Before I realized it, I was talking with him about everything. When Dad came to get me, the man gave me a hug. Grabbing my hand and teary-eyed, he said, "Thank you for bringing me Christmas." I felt tears swelling in my eyes. We had brought each other Christmas.

When we got home, Dad took the gifts to the family and when he returned, told of hiding behind a bush and watching as the family found the gifts.

That night the spirit of joy and happiness, something Richard had brought into our home, was back. My little sister danced around with her stocking Christmas morning. She shouted out, "It sure is nice having Richard with us again!" And we all knew what she meant.