The Christmas Blessing

by VanLiere, Donna

I made it through my rounds but it felt as if I were walking through a long tunnel of a dream that wouldn’t end, but I was confident that I’d awaken and learn that the doctors had made a mistake: Meghan wasn’t sick after all. I can’t remember how many times I told myself that when my mother was ill, but it should have been enough to learn by now that Meghan was sick. In a little while, if she didn’t get a transplant, she would get very sick. After my rounds, I made my way to the lounge and tried to open my locker. It was jammed. I jiggled the handle and pulled it toward me, but the locker wouldn’t budge. In frustration I tried several times. I leaned my head on the locker. This isn’t happening again. I lifted the handle. Nothing. In anger I beat my fists into the locker and pounded it over and over and over. Why did I meet her? I couldn’t go through it again. I couldn’t watch someone I love get weaker every day until death finally snatched her away.

  In one of her letters my mother wrote,

  Life never has and never will be fair, Nathan. I won’t be the first person you lose; there will be others. You’ll stand by their side as they lie dying or beside their grave in a cemetery and it’s there that you’ll have to make a decision. You can either lean into God or turn away. It will always be your choice, Nathan, not His.

  I closed my eyes. She never turned away. Even in death, my mother chose to go through the pain with God rather than without Him. I didn’t know if I could make that same decision.

  There are days when I can remember everything Meghan and I did together over the next three weeks, then there are days when I can’t remember anything at all. She would turn off all the lights in her family’s living room, leaving only the lights on the tree to light up the room, and we’d sit there for hours and talk about everything or we’d watch the lights on the tree and say nothing at all. Sometimes, we’d drive to the park and walk around the lake. Each time we were there Meghan would look for the runner she used to pace herself against, but we never saw her. “It’s the wrong time of day,” she would say, disappointed. “I hope I get to see her again.” Neither of us knew if she would—her body was reminding us every day that time was short.

  One day our walk around the lake was slower than usual. I held firm to Meghan’s hand, afraid she would slip on the patches of ice on the path. She stopped beneath the giant oak tree and looked out over the frozen water. She loved it there. She looked from side to side, taking it all in as if it were the first time she’d seen it. We stood in silence as she watched the runners making their way around the perimeter of the lake, and I knew she’d give anything to be running with them.

  My mother wrote in her last letter to me:

  Dear Nathan,

  You have grown so fast. It was only yesterday your father and I brought you home from the hospital. As I watched you grow into the fine little man you are, I was reminded time and again that life is a mist. We’re here for a while and then we just fade away, leaving little bits of ourselves behind for the people we love. You’ll be a man like your daddy before you know it and I hope that when you’re grown that you won’t let life slip by. I hope that for every loop and drop this roller coaster takes you on, that you’ll keep hanging on for the rest of the ride. Just know that the ride is over before you know it and if you close your eyes, you’ll miss it.

  I didn’t want to miss a second of the ride with Meghan.

  Meghan woke to sounds of her mother in the kitchen. She tiptoed through the living room and stuck her head around the corner: Allison was making every effort to be quiet, closing cabinets and removing bowls and pans with care. “What are you doing, Mom?” Meghan asked. Allison jumped at her voice.

  “Don’t scare me, Meghan; I’m getting too old. Did I wake you?”

  “No. What are you making?”

  “Peanut butter fudge.” It was Luke’s favorite. Her mother made it every year for Christmas, along with date balls for Jim, cookies by the dozen for Olivia and her class, and homemade candy that took an hour to beat to perfection for Meghan. Meghan ran back toward her room.

  “I’m going to change and come help you.” Allison stopped her.

  “I can do it, Meg. Just lie on the couch and rest.” Meghan stopped in the hallway and turned back to her mother. For days her mom and dad had walked on eggshells around her. Meghan was tired of it.

  “Would you stop treating me like a baby, Mom?”

  “I wasn’t. I was trying to treat you like normal.” Allison wanted to treat her as she always did, but things were different now and she no longer knew how to act or what to do.

  “Well, you’re not, Mom. If you were, you’d talk about what’s happening.” Allison stuck her head in the refrigerator. “See, you’re avoiding it right now!” Allison pulled out a pound of butter and set it on the counter. “Mom, look at me.” Allison clutched the recipe box and looked at Meghan. “A transplant might never become available.”

  Tears pooled in Allison’s eyes. “Don’t say that, Meghan.”

  “Mom, you heard the doctors. I either get a transplant or . . .” Tears fell down Allison’s face as she cut Meghan off.

  “Please don’t say that, Meghan,” she whispered. “I can’t think about . . .” She couldn’t finish. She picked up a dishcloth and buried her face in it.

  “Mom, if I die, you can’t be sad forever.” Allison didn’t respond. “You’re going to look out the window and life will still go on. That’s just how it is.” Allison wanted to say it was a whole lot more than that for the people who were left behind, but she remained quiet. “Do you know what I want more than anything, Mom?” Allison looked up.

  “What?”

  “I want to help you make peanut butter fudge.” Allison tried to laugh and handed Meghan a bowl.

  They spent the morning talking and laughing as one Christmas treat after another was prepared. When Meghan lay down to rest after lunch, Allison cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, turning the TV news up to drown out the sound of her crying.

  Meghan pulled a folder containing information about the scholarship run out of her desk in the bedroom. She sat Jim and Allison down, going over every last detail from how she wanted the sponsorships organized to the day of the run itself. “We’re doing this awfully early, aren’t we,” Jim said. “Isn’t the race in June?”

  “Dad, it has to be organized so we’ll know what else needs to be done.”

  “Besides my bank account, where else is all the money going once you collect it?” Jim asked, hoping to make Meghan laugh. She was all business.

  “That’s where I need help. Once the money goes into a trust we’re going to need a lawyer or somebody to help us make all this legal.” Meghan wrote the word “lawyer” on her legal pad and circled it. She’d have to find a lawyer she could trust.

  They finished the work an hour later, and Meghan put everything back into her folder. “I want Charlie to be the first recipient,” she said. She looked at her mom and dad. “It’s important to me that somebody know that.”

  I pulled into Meghan’s drive after my rounds one day and saw Charlie sitting on the swing set in the backyard. It was so cold, the snow crunched beneath me as I walked toward him. I zipped my jacket and sat on the swing next to him.

  “It’s awfully cold out here,” I said.

  “I don’t mind it,” he said, watching his feet dig into the snow as he twisted the swing from side to side. I stuck my hands in my pockets.

  “Did you visit with Meghan?” He nodded. “How was it?” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Will they find a transplant?” His voice was soft. I barely heard the question.

  “As soon as a match is available, they’ll get her to the hospital.”

  “But will they find one?” I paused, looking out over the white yard.

  “I don’t know.” He nodded and leaned farther over the swing, staring at his feet.

  “Why aren’t more people organ donors?”

  “I don’t know. Afraid that if they actually say they are that something will happen to them; as if they’r
e inviting death into their home.”

  “That’s stupid,” he said. “People are dying every day because they need a kidney or liver or a new heart.” He stopped swaying back and forth and looked at me. “She says there are always miracles at Christmas. Do you believe that?” My heart sank. I didn’t want to answer him, but I knew there was no way around it. Charlie was too smart for double-talk.

  “If we can’t believe that miracles happen, then we may as well stop believing anything at all.” He looked down at the ground again.

  “Do you love her?” he asked. He waited for me to answer.

  “Man to man?” I asked.

  “Man to man.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you better tell her soon because I love her, too, and if you don’t tell her, I will.”

  I smiled. Charlie was a rare gem. I reached over and squeezed the back of his neck, praying that the miracle Meghan believed in would happen soon.

  NINE

  A miracle, my friend, is an event which creates faith.

  —George Bernard Shaw

  Meghan was lying on the sofa; nausea had hit her hard that morning, and she had vomited right before everyone came to visit. Charlie sat on a chair with two of Meghan’s teammates, who were perched on each arm of the chair. Leslie grinned as he turned three shades of red when one of the girls would flirt with him, teasing him about being Meghan’s secret coach.

  “Does she rub your head before she runs?” one of them asked, rubbing Charlie’s head and messing up his hair.

  “Or does she kiss you?” another asked, turning and kissing Charlie on the cheek. His eyes widened, and Leslie stepped into the kitchen before he saw her laughing.

  Before Meghan let the girls leave she grilled them about how much money they were raising for the race. “Trust me,” Michele said. “They’re all working hard. You’re going to raise more money for this run than you ever imagined.”

  Meghan’s teammates filed out the door, rubbing Charlie’s head for good luck. As soon as the winter break was over they’d all be at practice again and told Meghan they expected her there.

  Meghan was quiet. Everyone was always so cheerful, taking great strides to step around any questions about her illness. With the exception of the first, How do you feel? nobody asked anything else. Nobody, that is, except Charlie. He walked to the sofa and sat down beside Meghan.

  “Are you getting sicker every day?”

  Meghan knew she’d have to tell him the truth. “Yes.”

  He was quiet. “When will you have to go back to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, but she knew it would be soon.

  Allison and Leslie sat in the family room listening as Meghan laughed and visited with Charlie and her friends. “All these years I’ve been so worried about her heart,” Allison said. “I never dreamed anything like this would happen.” Tears fell down her face, and Leslie squeezed her hand. “I should have known her heart wouldn’t give out. She’s always had more heart than any of us.” Leslie stayed quiet and listened; she knew there was nothing she could say. She could try saying something like, A liver will be available soon, but she didn’t know that. “Sometimes I try to prepare myself,” Allison whispered. She stopped. “I try to prepare for the day when . . .”

  “There’s nothing to prepare for, Allison. She’s still here.” A tear fell down Allison’s cheek, and she brushed it away.

  “Every day I look at her and say, ‘Oh God, please! Please save my little girl’s life.’ ” She covered her face and wept, letting her tears fall in her hands. Leslie touched her arm.

  “She’s still here, Allison. She’s looking at you and Jim and loving you every day, and while she’s doing that there’s still hope. She’s still here,” Leslie said. Allison nodded and tears fell from her chin.

  “But for how long,” Allison whispered.

  Leslie and Charlie pulled on their coats to leave. “You need to keep your eyes on the finish line,” Charlie said, cracking his knuckles. “Don’t ever take your eyes off the goal because your miracle’s coming. I just know it.” Meghan grabbed his hands.

  “Stop doing that,” she said. “Your fingers are going to look like breadsticks.” Allison and Leslie watched at the door, smiling. Given their ages, Charlie and Meghan were the most unlikely of friends, but both women knew there was a deep bond between them. Meghan hugged Charlie. “Thanks for coming over today,” she said in his ear.

  “I’ll come by every day,” he said. He put his head down and wouldn’t look at her. “You’re my best friend, Meghan.” He darted for the door before she could respond.

  “I want to get tested to see if I can be a donor for Meghan,” Charlie said, on the drive home. Leslie looked at him; she knew he was serious.

  “I know you love Meghan, but you just can’t do that, Charlie. Your heart would never make it through the surgery.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” he said, snapping his head to stare out the passenger window.

  “Dr. Goetz would never let you,” Leslie said. “You know that.” Charlie wasn’t listening. “Meghan wouldn’t let you, either.” He turned to look at his mother. “You know that, too.” Charlie remained quiet.

  “Mom?” Leslie looked at him. “For weeks I haven’t been able to pray for Meghan’s miracle because I knew that somebody would have to die. I mean, if a living donor wasn’t found.” He looked at his mother. “But we have to pray for that now. Somebody has to die, or Meghan will.”

  • • •

  I got to Meghan’s late one day. I was doing the workup of a patient that took longer than expected, and I could hear time tick away in my ears as one thing after another kept me at the hospital for another hour. I walked into her house and found her on the sofa.

  “Would you take me to the park?” she asked. I drove to the park and opened my door, but she stopped me. “I just want to look at it,” she said, watching ice-skaters on the lake. She looked at the small gazebo on the other side of the lake. Someone had decorated it for Christmas with huge red bows, swags of spruce, and bright colored lights. Snow clung to colored bulbs that covered a huge evergreen in the middle of the park. “I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas,” she said. She was quiet as she watched two runners make their way past my truck and around the lake. “Was your mother afraid when she died?”

  The question took me off guard. “No.”

  She kept watching the runners.

  “When you think about her now, do you remember the way she died or how she lived?”

  “How she lived.”

  She nodded. She watched as runners made one loop after another around the lake. Tears filled her eyes and made their way down her face and over her chin, spilling onto her hands. “I’m never going to run again,” she said, wiping her face. “It’s funny how you draw up a plan for your life.” Her voice was stronger now. “Then something happens that proves you wrong.” She was crying harder, and I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her. “You’re reminded that you only have a few years: eighty, maybe sixty-five . . . or nineteen.” Her shoulders were shaking. “I don’t want to leave my family,” she said, sobbing. “I don’t want to leave you, Nathan.” She was grabbing my face, searching my eyes.

  “We have to hold on for your miracle, Meg,” I said, holding on to her. I opened my door and slid her off the seat, into my arms. I walked down the slope leading to the path around the lake and started to carry her around it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. I pulled her closer and picked up my pace, running. A few runners ran off to the side, staring as I ran with Meghan in my arms. She lifted an arm up toward the sky and squinted into the sun, feeling the wind on her face. She smiled; she was running around the lake she loved.

  TEN

  Only a life lived for others is the life worthwhile.

  —Albert Einstein

  Meghan was admitted to the hospital on a Thursday. Her condition was declining, so physicians would no longer permit her to stay
home. Doctors would keep her as comfortable as possible and do everything they could to keep her from catching even a common cold. They had to keep her as healthy as possible. Allison held on to Olivia’s hand and walked with her and Luke down the hall, toward Meghan’s room.

  “Is Dr. Goetz keeping you here again?” Olivia asked, jumping onto Meghan’s bed. Meghan shook her head and motioned for Luke to come closer, then, making things as clear as possible, she told them everything.

  I had planned to stay at my dad’s for Christmas break, but when Meghan got sick I decided to stay in my apartment, closer to the hospital. I finished up my rounds on the twenty-third and gathered my things to leave. Peter Vashti saw me in the cafeteria. I hadn’t seen him since he helped get me out of the rotation with Dr. Goetz. We talked about Meghan, and I shared with him my decision to leave medical school. He had seen several of his own classmates drop out during their third year, so what I said didn’t take him by surprise.

  “I think it’s going to be hard for you to walk away,” Peter said. He leaned forward in his seat and looked me in the eye. “Don’t make this decision because things got tough for a while. You’ll go through rough times again. There were doctors that I hated during my third year.”

  I smiled at Peter. I knew what he was thinking. “I haven’t made my decision because of Dr. Goetz or any other doctor. I just know that some of you are meant to be doctors, and some of us aren’t.”

  “Or maybe some kept working through the tough times while some bowed out. I know that some of my classmates regret the decision they made. I just hope you won’t.”

  I didn’t have time to dwell on what Peter said. I pulled my things together, said good-bye to everyone, and walked out the doors leading to the parking lot. They closed behind me and I stopped. It felt so final, as if they were closing forever, but I couldn’t take the time to think about that. Not now anyway.