The Miracle at Christmas

A Memoir of my Grampa, by C.J. Heck

It was December, during a time that would forever be called, "The Great Depression". The blizzard began last night just after dark with gentle flurries. Now just before dawn, it was snowing hard and the wind was busy building shoulder-high drifts.

Frank pulled his coat collar up as high as it would go, shrinking the opening making it less inviting to wayward snowflakes. "Never mind," he thought, "just never you mind. It's winter, it's snowing, and it is what it is."

This morning, like every morning, snow or no snow, Frank walked the tracks, pocketing any chunks of coal that had escaped from railroad cars bouncing along the iron tracks. They wouldn't buy food, but each black nugget was precious and did its best to keep his family warm.

Times were tough. The blizzard only served to punctuate just how much worse things could get.

Frank plodded on, pushing the snow aside with his foot. Coal was nearly impossible to see in the dark and the snow cover made it even harder to find. With each step, he grew more despondent, knowing his pockets were still nearly empty and probably would stay that way. How had things ever gotten so bad?

Only days before Christmas and Frank still hadn't found work. "Children shouldn't have to grow up this fast." He said aloud into the darkness, while the wind gobbled each word as it was spoken. "In their innocent dreams, Santa Claus is real. He's in the North Pole right now and his elves are making toys to deliver in a sleigh on Christmas Eve."

Frank's oldest delivered groceries on his bike and stocked shelves for Burt on Tuesdays down at the market. His middle child had a paper route. Even his wife worked one day a week cleaning for the Parkers who owned the mill. Jeb Parker did what he could, hiring men for a day here, a day there, but few could afford what the mill produced, so even Jeb was falling on hard times.

And Joanne, sweet little Jo. She was only two. Hardship was all she had ever known. How he wished he could make things better for her ---for all of them.

Hours later, Frank reached his lowest point yet. It was dark again and snowing harder, if that was possible. All day, he stood in the growing lines for the few available jobs, until he and the others were waved away and the doors were shut. There were always more men than jobs.

Overcome by exhaustion and grief, he sat down on the curb, feet planted in the freezing slush. With his head in his hands, Frank's spirit was broken and he knew defeat. The resolve to end it all had plagued him for days, but each time, he had pushed it aside. Now, nothing mattered any more. He had a small insurance policy and he was counting on it for his family.

Blinking through tears, he prayed for his immortal soul. "God, please help me. Give me the courage to do what I have to do. Help me, please help me."

He thought again of sweet little Jo. If he did what he thought he should, at two, she would have no memory of him at all and the thought hit Frank like a punch in the gut. He patted the dangerous bulge in his coat pocket.

He had always tried to be a good father, loving, kind and fair, and he felt secure, knowing he had been. But Jo would never remember him at all … no, no, I’m not going there. He knew what he had to do.

As he wiped a tear, he thought of Maggie. She was a good woman and a wonderful wife. They had been high school sweethearts and he never wavered, not once, in his love for her. He knew the first time he saw her that she was the one. He knew she loved him, too.

It would be devastating to all of them, but he knew it was the only choice he had. Maggie would be there for the children. She was the heart of the family, the glue that held them together.

Dear God, no more tears … he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then stuffed the handkerchief back in his sleeve.

He patted his pocket once more, when something odd caught his eye. Something was poking out of the slush between his feet. He reached down and pulled a crusty hundred dollar bill out of the frozen slush.

Frank could only sit staring blankly at his hand, trying desperately to make some sense of it. Although he couldn’t put it into words, his heart was filled with gratitude. Then it occurred to him, it was an answer to his prayer.

The bulge in his coat pocket had become a fierce reminder, something to return to the locked trunk in the attic first thing in the morning. As he began the long walk home, his only thoughts were about how he had nearly done something unforgivable.

As he walked up the steps to his house, he could hear the children inside playing a game at the kitchen table and he couldn’t help but smile.

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