For Deseret News, 2005
Life was wonderful. Early in 1976 our first child was
born. She was a beautiful, active, healthy little girl to whom we gave the
angelic name of Kristina Marie. After she entered our lives, Kristi meant
everything to us. Life was now complete and we both thoroughly enjoyed our
newly found happiness as parents.
Months before Christmas, Susie and I started looking
forward to sharing our first Christmas with our new little daughter. This we
knew was going to be a most memorable and glorious Christmas.
But during October something went wrong—very wrong. Kristi
got what we thought was only a minor illness, but she continued to cough and
cough. Her appetite faded. As her illness lingered for over a week, a decision
was made, mostly to reassure her worried parents, to take our infant daughter
to her pediatrician.
Later that same afternoon, I received a call. Her
doctor wanted to speak to me. I reasoned quickly that he was being kind and he
just wanted to reassure an overly concerned father. But he spoke with concise
seriousness and stark bluntness. "George, your daughter has cancer."
He continued, "We can't tell what type of cancer she has, but it doesn't
look good. I admitted her to the hospital." Then in conclusion, and after
a momentary pause, he empathized and comforted by softly saying, "I'm
sorry."
As I hung up the phone, I was stunned. I sat
motionless in total disbelief and shock. I felt tears freely flowing over my
cheeks. I closed the door in my office and prayed as the brutal reality of what
I had just heard sank deeply into my mind. I then quickly raced to the
hospital.
After arriving at the hospital, the doctors showed and
explained the X-rays to me, and pointed out the harsh realities of her illness.
My worst fears were being realized. I tried to reason and clear my mind as I
grasped that Kristi, our precious little daughter, was dying.
As I walked to Kristi's hospital room, I took what
seemed like the longest and most difficult walk of my life. I saw children
singing and playing in the toy room. I knew I would have to face my wife. We shed
a lot of tears that evening—and in the coming days and weeks before Christmas,
as Kristi went through multiple surgeries and vigorous chemotherapy in a bold
attempt to save her life.
During the weeks before Christmas, Susie and I saw
mostly the inside of a hospital room and the dreaded pediatric intensive care
unit. Our precious little girl struggled each day just to stay alive. As
Christmas approached, we were devastated.
We warned both of our parents and families to not
expect us to visit at Christmastime. We just did not want to bring our gloom
and our sadness into their Christmas happiness. Christmas Eve was certainly not
what we had expected earlier that year. Kristi was still hospitalized and we
were going home to an empty house of pure sorrow and loneliness.
But our kind and caring neighbors knew of our sadness
and our insurmountable grief. These neighbors without any regard for themselves
or their family called Susie and myself on Christmas Eve and invited us to come
to their home. They wanted us to share this glorious evening with them and
their family. After much pleading and convincing on their part we finally
accepted their heartfelt invitation.
This was to become the Christmas we shall never
forget. That night we felt more love and more kindness than one could ever
expect. They made us part of their family that Christmas Eve as we sang
beautiful songs, feasted on a delicious home-cooked meal and shared, most
importantly, concern, warm feelings, and appreciation for each other. That
evening I realized, more so than ever, that Christmas is love!
Kristi's illness was devastating. Her doctors did
everything they could but she peacefully and quietly passed away just a few
weeks after Christmas. But even in those disheartening and discouraging hours,
she taught us and gave us the opportunity to learn more about Christmas than we
had ever learned before.
On Kristi's little grave marker is written a constant
reminder of the love shown to us during that special Christmas:
"Your life, though brief
"Was rich and full
"You taught us love."
I
shall never forget our sweet daughter or that sacred Christmas, because during
those darkest hours, I discovered that the true meaning and purpose for
celebrating Christmas is the sharing of love, as Christ shared his love for us.
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