The Hero's Gift

A HERO’S GIFT By: Vincent Phoenix

The stale hospital was dim, silhouetting two patients. Both were approaching the end of their earthly sojourn. One was gray haired, pale, smiling, as if life had given him something to feel levity about. The other was bald, wrinkled, with memories of pain. Sagging dark eyes bespoke mythic sorrow and fear. “Hello, Uncle John!” A sharp looking husband in his glowing twenties greeted the invalid. It was ten days till Christmas and the young couple had been coming every week to visit their cheerful relative. This time they had flowers, delivered by their 4 year old daughter Jesse. “Hello Sugar!” The gray haired recipient reached for the girl and scooped her in his arms, noticeably weakening him, but lighting his complexion with wonder at the angel girl who seated herself on his bed. Still holding the flowers she kissed his cheek and presented them in an innocent gesture. “You’re looking well Dear.” The mother lied to the old man, as she stroked his head, planting her own kiss on top. “Yeah, have you been eating that Christmas cheesecake the staff said would do you in?” The nephew jested. “I don’t care what they try feed me here; I’m still going to go down eating what I like.” John squirmed as he slid his back further up the pillows, searching for a better position. “We came to see you Uncle John,” Jesse said sporadically. “You’re our favorite.”

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The young father confirmed his daughters’ statement, adding a warning that the old geezer better stay alive long enough to provide plenty of visiting hours. “You know me Tom,” John waved it off, “I’m impartial to such things, we’re all born, and we’ll all die.” A cough was heard beyond the dividing curtain as the other aging patient struggled to breath. “Who’s your roommate?” Tom questioned. “Oh, that’s The Sergeant Major,” John replied. “He’s been wounded more times in more military campaigns than George Washington. Poor guy never has any visitors outside the doctors. Get him going though and he’ll talk your ear off.” It was obvious the stories had already been exchanged between the two men and they were leaving each other alone to suffer peacefully. The conversation drifted to other things. Tom had just begun work as a Lawyer and was describing the details of employment at a new firm. During all the commotion, however, no one noticed Jesse sneak under the curtain to catch a peek at the congested neighbor. A teary eyed Sgt recovered from his coughing fit in time to notice a small face at the foot of his bed. Jesse moved unabashed up the side rail, and observed the twisted depravation typical of a dying cancer patient. “Hello there.” The Sgt’s voice was thrashed but kind. Jesse was unafraid. She placed her small hand in the crook of his leathery arm. “Are you excited for Christmas?” She inquired innocently, as if she had known him all her life.

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“Oh,” He was caught off guard for a moment, “I am now,” he nodded. “Where’s Jesse—Jesse!” Margie said frantically, as she fought with the curtain that separated them. Her face protruded into view as Jesse slowly looked up say that she was with her new friend. “Jesse, come back here,” Margie took her hand and began to pull her through the opening. “It’s okay, I really don’t mind,” the Sgt persisted. Jesse looked back and smiled. The young family finished their visit and began to leave when they heard the raspy voice call after them. “Please, don’t leave yet, just a minute.” Tom observed the dying man with pity. Poor wretch. “What is it—can we help you?” He walked toward the Sgt ahead of his family as a wrinkled hand motioned him closer. “I just wanted to tell you what a lovely family you have,” he coughed, “I had a family once too. I think I should tell you about it.” The three of them had reached his bed, Jesse stood nearest and the Sgt smiled. “I was once a lot like you,” he said to Tom, “I had a wife, and a daughter. This was right before the war. I had enlisted to help provide for them, Ya know what it’s like. A man will give anything to take care of his family.” Here he paused and drew a painful breath before continuing. “It was Christmas day, I remember. Snow had just fallen and we drove the car into town to the theater to catch the Christmas show, ‘Its A Wonderful Life,’ I think.” A softness settle on Tom and his wife. Margie sat down listening intently as the battered veteran continued. “It’s my fondest memory,” he aging eyes began to water, and he choked on his next phrase, “It was the happiest day of my life. My girl was real young then, ya know, I held her in my arms and when she cried during the show I took her into the entry of the

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theater to give my wife some peace. We watched the snow fall there, together, through the frosted windows, just me and her. You see I had orders to report for duty in four days, I knew I would see my wife and kid very little after that.” Margie was completely taken with the story and was being moved, almost to tears herself. “I’m so sorry.” She patted his hand. “No, don’t be. I ruined it you see. My wife’s mother, she never liked me.” The Sgt rolled a quarter turn to try and lap up some extra air. “It was my fault really. It was a month after that that everything fell apart. I had been away training like I figured I would, but the war broke out and I never came back, not for a long time, you see. We’d argued on the phone. My wife was upset. My daughter was sick, they wouldn’t let me leave to see her. I was rude to her. I cursed on the phone because I was upset too.” At this point tears were streaming down his cheeks and Tom wondered if he should call for a nurse. The Sergeant Major was getting quite intense with emotion. The Sgt paused and patted Jesse on the arm affectionately and contemplated before concluding, more quietly. “I just thought you folks should know how lucky you are to have each other, especially at Christmas time.” Another coughing fit ensued. Between convulsions he invited them to leave. The couple left the hospital that day with a mild case of contemplative shock. It wasn’t just the fact that a crazy old man had grabbed them and held them captive to here his sad tale, it was the fact that the guy was dying and he could have just spilt his final words. Jesse broke the reverence. “Can we come back tomorrow mom, can we please?”

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“I don’t know dear, I guess it’s up to your father and his new work schedule.” Margie replied. “Yeah, Hun, we can come back tomorrow.” The next day Tom secretly hoped the Sgt would still be around. Margie noticed him turned to the wall, snoring, as they passed by to Uncle John. After there usual chatter they prepared to leave as Jesse made a point to tap the Sgt on there way out. “Huh—what? Oh, it’s you.” He seemed extra glad to see her, even if he had been disturbed from slumber. “And how’s my favorite family?” The sagging eyes had a sparkle. “We’re fine… um, Sergeant Major, is that what we should call you?” Tom shook his hand as he questioned. “No, no, call me Dick,” he said informally. “I’ve been called Sergeant by too many people that hated me. I’d kind of like to consider you my friends.” “All right, Dick.” Tom smiled as he said it, and then asked what he’d thought about the most in the last 24 hours. “Could you tell us how your story ends? You know, with your wife and daughter. What happened?” “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to bore you.” He spoke sincerely, but his eyes were intent, desperately wanting to finish. “No, please, go on.” Tom persisted. “Well,” Dick sat up a little straighter. “I never saw them again.” “Never?” “Nope, some say that my mother in law persuaded her to leave, but I’ll never be sure. All I know is that the letters stopped coming, she quit answering the telephone, and

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I eventually gave up trying to reach her. I was a deployed soldier. There wasn’t much I could do, but I couldn’t forgive her—it took a long time to get over it, I’m not sure I am now.” He gazed out through the window, as if looking for a ghost in the clouds. “Now I’ll really never know.” His voice fell silent. “But, didn’t you try, I mean, didn’t you search for her when you got home? What about your daughter?” Margie prodded. “I tried,” The Sgt sighed. “But when someone doesn’t want you around they can disappear very easily.” The visits continued. Every day they visited Uncle John they also got a piece of the Sergeant Majors life. He told them stories of battle, and heroic missions. He spoke of the men he’d lost and the wounds he carried. Many stories made him cry and sometimes Margie wondered if it was good for him to share it all in such an informal group therapy, but she never said anything. Mostly Dick spoke of his girl though, and that seemed to hurt him the most. Uncle John and The Sergeant Major both past away in there hospital beds a week before Christmas, a fluke of nature mysterious, but true. Who would believe that two old men suffering from completely different illnesses, staying in the same room, would die, just minutes apart? Poor Jesse was heartbroken. Uncle John’s family lived far away and a local funeral was not planned. Tom and Margie thought the least they could do was to attend Dick’s and perhaps give Jesse some understanding of death, if not, some welcome closure. Christmas Eve had arrived on a somewhat mournful day for the little girl, even though it had been two days after the funeral; Jesse was still moping around the house.

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Her Mother was putting up the last of the holiday decorations when Tom returned from the firm. Margie greeted him with a kiss. “Hi Hun—Tom, we need to talk—I think Jesse needs some, I don’t know, some more closure after what happened with John and Dick.” “I know, but what can we do?” He replied. “Let’s just take her to the cemetery and talk about it again, shall we?” Tom folded. “Yeah, I guess we could, maybe we could make a day of it tomorrow —swing by on the way to the ice arena. That may help take her mind settle it.” Christmas day arrived foggy and cold. Snow crunched underfoot as they exited the SUV at the graveyard. Jesse ran to the tombstone with the Poinsettia her mother had provided, and Tom followed her with his awkward score to settle. He squatted next to the freshly turned earth in front of the head stone and Jesse sat on his knee. There was a clearing of the throat and Tom began to speak. “Jesse,” He began, “Do you remember the story the preacher told in church this morning?” “Yeah,” “Remember he told us about the baby Jesus, and how he grew up to die on the cross?” “Yeah,” “Well, Dick had to die too. You see, we all will, but that’s not what’s important, Baby,” He wrapped her coat more tightly against the moistening fog, “What’s important is how a person lived. Jesus lived a life of helping and caring for others. Dick lived a life of service to his country. You know all the stories the Sgt told. They were about soldiers

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fighting to keep our country safe and free. It was something he believed in, just like Jesus believed in healing and giving. They both lived for what they believed in and nothing’s more important then living what you believe. That’s what makes a good life.” Tom finished, somewhat surprised at what he’d just said, when a voice interrupted. “Did you know Dick Wellington?” Tom peered through the fog trying to discern the approaching figure “Yes,” he replied, “can we help you?” He could just make out the details as she appeared through the mist. She was an elegant woman in her thirties, long golden crimps and dressed against the humid winter cold. “I’m sorry. I overheard your conversation with your daughter. I’m Rachel. I’m here from out of town.” She approached apologetically. “I was trying to make it to a funeral but missed it due to the weather and a delayed flight. I’m Dick’s daughter.” Stunned, the young couple exchanged “Merry Christmas’s and introductions before a series of questions exchanged. The stately visitor finally asked the pivotal question. “Can you tell me anything about my dad?” At that moment Tom realized that the past two weeks had been no accident. It all finally fell into place: The chance meeting with the Sergeant Major, Jesse’s unresolved questions, the sporadic trip to the cemetery. For the next hour the four of them stood in foggy snow and tears as Tom and Margie recounted tales of a soldier father, his love for his daughter, the life of lonely service and Dick’s regrets of the past. He spoke of heroic

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battles and deep wounds that were never healed. When he was finished, Rachel embraced them both. A debt of gratitude was expressed and two girls’ hearts were touched. Rachel remained alone after they parted. Gazing on the resting place of a man she’d never known, in a strange moment she thought she heard his voice in her mind: “My legacy is all that’s left. Yours has only begun. You might forget my love, but it’s as constant as sun. I love you Rachel. Have Peace” The SUV’s heater warmed the small family as they left the snowy scene. Tom blew on his hands as he thought about the synchronistic events that had just unraveled. “You told her the Sgt’s story Daddy, and Rachel cried,” Jesse commented obviously, “It was important to her?” “Yes it was sweetheart.” Her father responded “Is Jesus’ story important too?” She remarked innocently. Tom was intrigued. Her comparison was startling. Perhaps only could a 4 year old make such an astute analogy? “Yes it is Honey, very important.” “Do you think Rachel has any plans for Christmas?” Jesse continued. Margie looked at her husband, then back at her inquisitive daughter. “Probably not honey, she only flew in for the funeral. Would you like her to come to the ice show with us?” With that Jesse’s face shone like Santa himself had said it and they headed back for the cemetery. And as they drove through the fog that day, Tom and Margie understood the power of a family and the eternal impact of a life well lived. They saw the greatest story ever told, the life of Christ, as a sacred treasure, and knew that Dick’s or any believer’s example would always be the greatest Christmas present… a hero’s gift.

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