THE LITTLE ANGEL

What is it that makes the Holidays special? When you're a child, it's all about the presents. Santa Claus, reindeer, elves and magic...unable to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, the anticipation more energizing than the sugar rush from all of the goodies. Then, we grow up...and the world, with all of its ugliness, pushes its way in. Work. Money. Worry. Strife. The magic tends to get pushed to the side.

But, if you're lucky, little things happen over the course of your life that bring the magic back. And, like the ornaments that you save from year to year, you take them out every once in a while...you lift them gently, carrying them with as much care as you can. Those memories, you see, are far more delicate and fragile than the finest porcelain. They are made with gossamer wings and fairy dust, and ingredients even finer...hopes and dreams...and love.

Twenty-one years ago today I was at a big box hardware store, my two oldest daughters in tow. It had been a rough year. I was going through my second disability retirement. Money was beyond tight. Cherish had been pregnant with Lacy, our first child together. I had not been much help to her during a good portion of the pregnancy due to health reasons that would take too long to explain here. Needless to say, when she had needed me most, I had been unable to come through for her. She had, however, carried our beautiful baby girl to full term, and delivered her on the tenth of December. Now, as had become our way in life, we were scrambling to try and get things done at the last minute with no money.

Cherish's parents were getting the girls a really nice swing set. My second daughter was really into gymnastics at that time, and had made it clear that she wanted her own balance beam. My oldest daughters and I were at that store so that I could price out the remaining items that I would need to build the balance beam in the backyard. The four by four, cement and brackets had already been purchased, but I knew that I needed screws and nails, as well as a couple of tools that I didn't own. I had just finished pricing those tools, and discovered that there was no way that I could afford to buy even one of them, let alone all that I needed. Frustration, anger and self-loathing were just kicking into high gear when Crystal, my oldest, started to tug on my sleeve.

Crystal is an amazing human being. If you have never had the pleasure of meeting her, your life truly is not complete. Her praises are far too many for me to sing, but the two that come most into play in this story are these: she possesses no guile at all...she always says exactly what she means. And, like a dog with a bone, once she believes in something, and the rightness of it, she never lets go. Truly remarkable, when you consider what she has been through in her life. Anyway...

Crystal was tugging at my sleeve. I turned to find her holding onto a very pretty, very frilly, and obviously not cheap Christmas ornament. It was an Angel...a tree topper Angel. Cherubic face, delicate gown, and a little light held in between her hands. One look told me there was no way we could afford it right now...no way. Not even a remote possibility.

No one had told Crystal that, however. Money means nothing to her. No concept at all. I mean that in a good way. She's not impressed by what others have, or what things cost. With Crystal, it's all about what's right. Keep that in mind.

Daddy?
Yes honey?
We have to get this angel.
Not today honey.
We have to.
Maybe some other time honey.
No. Today.

Her jaw was set in that certain way. I let her lead me to where she had found it. The shelf was bare, except for the box that the angel came in. It was, of course, the only one left. I picked up the box and looked for the price sticker. It was on the bottom: $25. Might as well have said $2500. Way too much money. No way we could afford it. I tried to explain that to Crystal. Useless. Finally, I just took it from her and put it next to the box...took both girls by the hand and started to lead them away. That's when Crystal got me.

Daddy...
Look Sis, I said no...now, let's go.
We have to buy it.
Not today...maybe we'll come back for it.
I said that knowing it was a lie.
We have to buy it today...it's the only one.
Look, sweetie, we can't today, OK? We'll think about it, and maybe...
We have to but it for Lacy. She's our little Angel. God sent her to make up for the one he took.

I had to stop writing for a minute. Crying. That memory is still so strong...so fresh...

I can't tell you why Crystal said that. It's too personal. That is one of the memories that is so fragile that I fear it would crumble in my hands if I ever took it out. But when she said it, I instantly knew that Crystal was right. I lead them back, put the angel in the box, and took it with us to the checkout stand. I told Cherish the story when I got home. We both cried. It went on the top of the tree right then.

The next year started a new tradition. We had always decorated the tree as a family. Now, when we were done, Lacy was hoisted onto my shoulders. It was to be her job to place the Angel on top of the tree. I don't remember how she did that first year. I do remember each year after. We would always tell the story of how we came to have that Angel, and Lacy loved the story. What Lacy was too young to realize was that Crystal had been prescient beyond human ability. You see, Lacy, it turned out, actually was an Angel...

She has made a difference in more people's lives than I can count. Those people know who they are: they know what Lacy means to them, and the changes that she made in them that no one else could. Those stories are precious to each person, and are not mine to share. What  I can tell you is this: The impact that Lacy has had on so many lives is not because of things that she has done. She has had that impact because of who she is. Inside. In her heart. I can tell you this...I believe she added years to my Dad's life. The joy that she brought to him...sorry...can't do it.

We still have that tradition. Every year, that Little Angel is the last thing to go on the tree. Every year, I put Lacy on my shoulders and lift her to the top. She places it, and plugs it in. Its little light shines down on all of the special ornaments, lots of them made by the kids over the years. It shines like a beacon, greeting each person who comes to our home with love, and hope, and dreams...and magic.

I have a feeling that I won't get to put Lacy on my shoulders this year. Not because of the degenerating discs or busted shoulders. The heart attack in January may have made last year my final one for lifting. I hope not. I'm going to lobby to carry her again...but I wont argue too hard and spoil the occasion.

No matter how it goes up there this year, I will relive each year from the past as it is placed and lit. Especially the first year...the year that God sent us our Little Angel, and that Crystal saw her for who she truly was.

Lacy's light shines on all who come into her circle. It touches them with warmth...and hope...and dreams...and love...

And Magic.

I love you, Little Angel

COURSE CORRECTION

I cut my finger yesterday. No big deal, except that the meds that I have to take for my stent make me bleed like a stuck pig. I have to bandage the finger up with a few bandages each time to keep the blood from soaking through. That makes the finger rather cumbersome...and my typing, which is not the best in the world to begin with, has suffered tremendously. I keep hitting extra keys, and bleeding on the keyboard. Some of the spellings are quite unique to say the least. So, Patti, if you thought my misspelling of sunshine was bad, you should see this stuff. This won't be the blog I originally planned. Something shorter will have to do.

I had planned on writing either about why Jesus wept, or about imaginary time/Schrodinger's Cat/and the philosophy of quantum mechanics. Not today. Let's just do...

What if?

Two word combination, but very powerful. We all do it...all the time. Usually, we do it over missed opportunities...missed chances. It's quite often replaced with, "if only". We're quite certain that if God, or whatever it is that you personally believe in, had only done things better for us, we wouldn't be in the terrible place we find ourselves in.

I prefer to look at it a different way.

What if I hadn't gotten crippled on the job as a Deputy Sheriff ?

It's a simple one, but it serves my point well. I can assure you, when I went through that whole experience, I didn't think that God was looking out for me. I didn't think He was looking out for me over the next few years, as the nerve damage grew worse. I didn't think that He was looking out for me when they found the tumor on the nerve, and thought they were going to take my leg.

I asked a lot of what ifs back then.

But...if all of that hadn't happened...

I wouldn't have met my beautiful wife. I believe that meeting, and marrying her, was God's first, best destiny for me. It could have been reached in a far better, much easier journey. You see, I had driven my life so far off course that I wasn't going to meet her. I wasn't going to get to marry the woman of my dreams. I had really screwed up the direction that God had wanted my life to go. Thankfully, for whatever reason, He loves me. He loves me enough to cripple me to get me back on course...back to the only love that could ever have saved me. Cherish's love.

It's what He wanted for me all along. I just made Him work a thousand times harder to get me there than was necessary.

Now, am I saying that all of the bad things that happen in people's lives are their fault? God forbid. I do know, however, that some of our worst problems are of our own making. Mine in particular. That's why I had the heart attack. Course correction again. I wasn't appreciating Cherish...my children...and all of the other wonderful things in my life enough. So, God let me have another Chance.

When I was laying on the bathroom floor, struggling to find the strength to crawl and get my phone to call 911...I wasn't thinking about being injured on the job. I wasn't thinking about all of the terrible things that I thought had happened in my life. I was thinking about Cherish...and about my children. I was thinking about how blessed I had been...and about how I had taken those blessings for granted. I was thinking, however...if only...

If only God gives me another chance...

I'll make sure I tell my wife everyday that she is God's most beautiful and wonderful creation. I'll make sure my children know how special and precious they are to me...and how ferociously proud of each one of them I am. I'll make certain that every single day that I have left... I SHOW my wife what she means to me...not just spout empty words.

It was their faces that gave me the strength to crawl to my phone. It was their love that kept me going.

Now I don't say, What if? Or, If only...

I say...don't let me forget...don't let me forget.

And, I'm grateful for all of the things in my life that led me to where I am...even the bad ones.

And, I thank God every day for course correcting my life so many times.

MICHAEL JACKSON, KOBE BRYANT, AND ME: DOES THE MEDIA REPORT THE NEWS...OR CREATE IT?

I was greatly saddened, as were millions of others, when I heard of Michael Jackson's death. We watched, as a family, the early coverage. It soon became apparent that the media was going to do what it usually does, so we turned off the coverage. My oldest daughter, Crystal, has a couple of Michael's DVDs(she's a big fan). We put one on and watched...amazed again at the genius of the man.

Kobe Bryant has also been in the news lately, due to the Lakers winning the NBA championship...and Kobe winning the Championship series MVP.

I am a crippled ex-cop...a minister who refuses to be paid for his work for God...and a writer.

What could I possibly have in common with these two Legends...one living...one now tragically dead too soon?

I like to tell stories to illustrate a point...true ones, if possible. It may not seem like the story I'm going to tell has anything to do with the topic, but trust me...I'll tie it together at the end.

My oldest daughter, Crystal, was born in 1977. The doctors' knew something was wrong right from the start, but they wouldn't say what. I overheard two nurses talking late in the afternoon about what a "shame it was for that poor baby". They tried to deny they were talking about Crystal when I confronted them, but she was the only baby there. They referred me to a doctor. He told me that they suspected Crystal had a "minor" heart problem, but it would be easily fixed with surgery. They were going to transfer her to Children's Hospital of Orange County(CHOC) that evening.

I couldn't ride in the ambulance with her, so I tried to follow in my car. It was an unusually foggy night, and I lost them. I finally found my way to the hospital, and, after many wrong turns, found her. She was in Pediatric ICU. I was allowed to go in and feed her every two hours. I stayed up all night.

I had just finished feeding her around nine the next morning when I was told her new doctor wanted to meet me and discuss her condition. The nurse sat me down in the ICU, just a few feet from Crystal. The Dr. came over and sat next to me. He asked what I new about my daughter's condition. I told him what I had been told: minor heart problem, but easy to fix. The following was the rest of our conversation.



Shit! Stupid God Damn idiots...


What's wrong?



I don't know why they...OK, here's the deal. Your daughter has a condition called Tetralogy of Fallot. Basically, four different things wrong with her heart. There are two basic courses to follow. One is immediate surgery. Her odds with that are 50-50 at best. The other is to wait...give her an opportunity to get stronger...but her odds that way are 75-25 against.



What would you do?



We have the best in the world here...her surgeon helped to pioneer the surgery...



But?



We just did the same surgery yesterday on a little boy. A little older than your daughter...bigger...stronger...better chance to survive. The surgery was a complete success...couldn't have gone any better...but the little boy died on the table. Just too weak.



Fuck...



The only thing keeping her alive right now is the ductus...it usually closes right after birth. If hers closes, by the time we know it's closed...it takes a couple of hours to set up an OR for this type of surgery. She'd be dead before we could start. You're the only one who can make the decision before that happens...and you have thirty minutes to decide.



I stumbled out of the ICU. Down in the elevator...outside. I was crying. The only people I trusted, that I could depend on, were my parents. They were 1100 miles away at the Mission in New Mexico. I didn't know what to do. I collapsed on a bench. Prayed. My gut instinct was to have them do the surgery.

I didn't hear Orson Wells voice...or John Houston's. Just a small, still voice.

If I want her to come Home, there's nothing they can do...if I want her to stay with you, she'll stay...give her the time.


I had never gone against my gut feeling at that point in my life, without it blowing up in my face. But I went with that voice. I made a vow to God: I wouldn't leave the hospital until Crystal did...one way or the other.



I stayed at the hospital for the next eight days. I was afraid to go to sleep, because her blood oxygen and other counts could change at any time. I didn't sleep for the first five days...went in and fed her every two hours. Talked to her...sang to her...and cried.

The morning of the sixth day, I finally stretched out on the couch in the parents' lounge after her four AM feeding. The next thing I knew, I was awakened by a vacuum cleaner at about 6:10. I rushed to the scrub room, upset with myself that I had fallen asleep. I could see her little incubator through the small window in the scrub room as I washed with betadine. Her incubator was empty. I rushed into my gown and into the room.

There was a note attached to the incubator...but no Crystal. None of the nurses knew where she was. The note said, "Call social worker." I used a phone in the ICU. The social worker asked me for my religious preference for Crystal. I cried.

"When did she die?"

"Die? I just need the information to complete her insurance forms..."

I slammed down the phone and went through the room like a madman. I finally found Crystal around a corner in the far end of the room. The late shift had moved her so they could clean her incubator. Someone forgot to tell the day shift nurses.

I can guarantee you that never happened again...to anyone.

Three days later, I took Crystal home. There were numerous mad rushes to CHOC's emergency room over the next two years...I almost lost her a few of those times. She had the corrective surgery right after she turned two. Her condition was far worse than they originally thought. They told me they would only call me away from the waiting room if she...

I got called away two hours into the surgery. I shuffled slowly to the phone at the desk. Picked it up.

"Hello?"

A slow, southern drawl on the other end.

"Hi...Crystal's dead..."

I dropped the phone and slid to the floor. The phone swung slowly back and forth inches from my head. The woman on the other end was still talking, but I was numb. Finally, I took the phone back to my ear.

"What happened? Was she just too small still, or...?"

"What do you mean? Nothings happened. I just wanted to know if you wanted someone to bring you some coffee or..."

I won't repeat what I said to that poor woman from Georgia, but suffice it to say, she never called anyone "dad" in that drawl of hers again...only "father".

The operation took twice as long, and they couldn't fix everything.

They told me she would never live to see thirteen.

Crystal is thirty one now. Every day with her is a blessing.

That was, at that point in my life, the worst set of experiences I had ever faced.

I have faced far worse ones since.

Some of you who read this blog know me. Some of you may feel that you have come to know me through my writing. If you're new to this blog, read TWO DOGS over on the side bar. It will give you an idea of my temperament.

Now, I want you to picture me going through those times with Crystal...and having the press following me...hounding me...filming everything I did...everything I said...sticking cameras and microphones in my face.

Trying to take pictures of Crystal.

By the time I was done, the paparazzi would have thought that Sean Penn was Mother Theresa.

Someone would have been hurt bad...or dead.

Picture the worst moment of your life...go ahead, get it firmly in your mind.

Now, picture have the press covering you, as you go through it...covering you the way that Michael Jackson has been covered his entire life...or Kobe.

Every mistake, real or imagined. Magnified a million times. Every private moment, every agony...

My work has been good enough to be stolen...more than once. One of the movies made from my stolen work did over $200 million. Another resurrected an actor's career. But...there's a reason why my work has never sold. Only God knows the reason why.

But, if I had to guess...

I'd say the He wanted to keep the body count down.

Kobe may be an arrogant prick...or, he may be a saint. I don't know. But, cut the guy a little slack for his mistakes.

As for Michael Jackson...

I hope he has finally found the peace that eluded him his entire life. I hope that the vultures leave his children alone. They've suffered enough.

And I hope that God allows Michael's version of Heaven to be...

The second star to the right...and straight on till morning.