By Casi
Smith
For the
Deseret News, 2015
People make a difference in our lives for good or
ill. Sometimes their actions even determine if we live or die. Such was the
case with our little brother, Paul, born in 1945. His bleeding episodes, both
external and internal, were frequent and frustrating for my young parents.
Doctors then did not know much about hemophilia, and special treatments were
not available for this life-threatening condition. Hemophiliacs were simply
given blood transfusions.
Two deadly strikes were against little Paul; he also
had a rare blood type. His life frequently hung in the balance awaiting the
generosity of strangers willing to donate the lifesaving gift of their blood.
Urgent appeals for donors were published in Salt Lake City newspapers and
broadcasted over local radio stations. In 1949 when Paul was 3 years old, he
was in the hospital a long time with a serious and painful cerebral hemorrhage,
so it was uncertain if he could come home to celebrate Christmas with us. Being
young girls, my sister, Carolyn, and I were unaware of the severity of Paul’s
condition, but we missed our little brother and wanted to share the holiday fun
with him.
When life was already challenging enough for our
family with Paul’s heart-breaking medical condition and mounting medical bills,
Daddy lost his job in a company layoff. Jobs were hard to come by, and losing a
decent one right before Christmas was devastating — especially with three young
children excited to celebrate the magic of the holiday.
Happiness and relief filled our hearts when our
parents brought our little brother home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
When Daddy carried Paul into our small living room, his eyes lit up when he
spotted the Christmas tree. He pointed excitedly at our poor little tree barren
of gifts underneath and decorated with silver icicles and a few simple
ornaments — it looked beautiful to him.
Christmas Eve was a festive, happy time shared with
Aunt Helen and Uncle Dale. As naïve children, we had high hopes that tomorrow
would be exciting, but in reality the chances were slim due to our parents’
financial situation. However, the next morning we awoke to an amazing abundance
of presents displayed under and around the tree. Never had we witnessed so many
gifts in one place, wrapped and unwrapped. Mommy soon emerged from my parents'
bedroom, carrying Paul who cried out happily, “Santy, Santy!”
The magic of Christmas was in the air, so real it
felt almost tangible to us. We took turns opening gift after gift and admired
larger presents displayed without gift wrap. We gazed at everything with awe.
It was convincing proof to us children that Santa was absolutely real!
What joy we felt that Christmas morning! What sweet
memories were made in those two days spent together! It was indeed a
combination of Christmas miracles. Our time with little Paul flew by too
quickly, and the magic of Christmas ended with the necessity of Daddy and Mommy
driving him back to the hospital while we stayed with our relatives. Kisses and
hugs were shared with him and sad tears shed when the time came for him to
leave. We never knew how long it would be until he could join us at home again.
His hospital stays had become more frequent and lengthy and his visits at home
rare and brief. Children were not allowed to visit hospital patients in those
days.
A couple days later our little brother went into a
36-hour coma. Carolyn and I were unaware of this latest crisis or the serious
decline of his health and didn’t realize that this was expected to be his last
Christmas. As it turned out, it was even worse than that — those two days we
shared with Paul were the last time my sister and I saw him. On New Year’s Eve,
1949, he passed away.
Several years later our parents explained the secret
of that special Christmas. The majority of those gifts were stealthily provided
before Christmas Eve by kind co-workers at Daddy’s former place of employment
who felt compassion for our family and other employees who had also been laid
off right before the holidays. Their generosity provided a great blessing at
that particular time for our family and so much joy in our difficulties.
For years I’ve pondered this extraordinary event and
wished it was possible to personally thank those wonderful Utah folks and
express my heartfelt gratitude for their benevolent deed as well as the caring
blood donors who saved Paul’s life many times. But each time I’ve followed
their example, I realize how richly we’re repaid for acts of kindness and
generosity that we extend to others, especially when they’re anonymous.
No comments:
Post a Comment