On a December night in Chicago, a little girl climbed onto her father’s lap and asked a question. It was a simple question, asked in children’s curiosity, yet it had a heart-rending effect on Robert May.

“Daddy,” four-year old Barbara asked, “Why isn’t my Mommy just like everybody else’s mommy?”

Bob May stole a glance across his shabby two room apartment. On a couch lay his young wife, Evelyn, racked with cancer. For two years she had been bedridden; for two years, all Bob’s income and smaller savings had gone to pay for treatments and medicines.

The terrible ordeal already had shattered two adult lives. Now Bob suddenly realized the happiness of his growing daughter was also in jeopardy. As he ran his fingers through Barbara’s hair, he prayed for some satisfactory answer to her question.

Bob May knew only too well what it meant to be “different.” As a child he had been weak and delicate. With the innocent cruelty of children, his playmates had continually goaded the stunted, skinny lad to tears. Later at Dartmouth, from which he was graduated in 1926, Bob May was so small that he was always being mistaken for someone’s little brother.

Nor was his adult life much happier. Unlike many of his classmates who floated from college into plush jobs, Bob became a lowly copywriter for Montgomery Ward, the big Chicago mail order house. Now at 33, Bob was deep in debt, depressed and sad.

Although Bob did not know it at the time, the answer he gave the tousled haired child on his lap was to bring him to fame and fortune. It was also to bring joy to countless thousands of children like his own Barbara. On that December night in the shabby Chicago apartment, Bob cradled his little girl’s head against his shoulder and began to tell a story.

“Once upon a time there was a reindeer named Rudolph, the only reindeer in the world that had a big red nose. Naturally people called him Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” As Bob went on to tell about Rudolph, he tried desperately to communicate to Barbara the knowledge that, even though some creatures of God are strange and different, they often enjoy the miraculous power to make others happy.

Rudolph, Bob explained, was terribly embarrassed by his unique nose. Other reindeer laughed at him; his mother and father and sister were mortified too.

Even Rudolph wallowed in self-pity.

“Well,” continued Bob, “One Christmas Eve, Santa Claus got his team of husky reindeer -Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixon ready for their yearly trip around the world. The entire reindeer community assembled to cheer these great heroes on their way. But a terrible fog engulfed the earth that evening, and Santa knew that the mist was so thick he wouldn’t be able to find any chimney.

Suddenly Rudolph appeared, his red nose glowing brighter than ever. Santa sensed at once that here was the answer to his perplexing problem. He led Rudolph to the front of the sleigh, fastened the harness and climbed in.

They were off! Rudolph guided Santa safely to every chimney that night. Rain and fog, snow and sleet; nothing bothered Rudolph, for his bright nose penetrated the mist like a beacon.

And so it was that Rudolph became the most famous and beloved of all the reindeer. The huge red nose he once hid in shame was now the envy of every buck and doe in the reindeer world. Santa Claus told everyone that Rudolph had saved the day and from that Christmas, Rudolph has been living serenely and happy.”

Little Barbara laughed with glee when her father finished. Every night she begged him to repeat the tale until finally Bob could rattle it off in his sleep. Then, at Christmas time he decided to make the story into a poem like “The Night Before Christmas” and prepare it in bookish form illustrated with pictures, for Barbara’s personal gift. Night after night, Bob worked on the verses after Barbara had gone to bed for he was determined his daughter should have a worthwhile gift, even though he could not afford to buy one…

Then as Bob was about to put the finishing touches on Rudolph, tragedy struck.

Evelyn May died. Bob, his hopes crushed, turned to Barbara as chief comfort. Yet, despite his grief, he sat at his desk in the quiet, now lonely apartment, and worked on “Rudolph” with tears in his eyes.

Shortly after Barbara had cried with joy over his handmade gift on Christmas morning, Bob was asked to an employee’s holiday party at Montgomery Wards. He didn’t want to go, but his office associates insisted. When Bob finally agreed, he took with him the poem and read it to the crowd. First the noisy throng listened in laughter and gaiety. Then they became silent, and at the end, broke into spontaneous applause. That was in 1938.

By Christmas of 1947, some 6 million copies of the booklet had been given away or sold, making Rudolph one of the most widely distributed books in the world. The demand for Rudolph sponsored products, increased so much in variety and number that educators and historians predicted Rudolph would come to occupy a permanent place in the Christmas legend.

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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I didn’t know Simone but my heart and prayers go out to her family and friends. I’ve heard such wonderful stories about her—she sounds like she was an amazing and outgoing person with a beautiful smile!

My daughter is in the same high school (although three grades below Simone) and I’ve heard how difficult it was for students to attend school after knowing Simone was killed (as a result of black ice and another vehicle being in the wrong place at the wrong time).

Sounds like it was an emotional day for all, even those who’d never met Simone!

Yesterday and today I found myself driving cautiously and watching for black ice…and the thought of something similar happening to my daughter shakes me to the core.

Today my hubby tells me that when he ran to the store with a friend on Wednesday they had bumped into Simone who was working there and had briefly chatted with her because his friend knew her. She had been very bubbly and happy–all smiles!

The accident was an hour later!

And then the ‘what if’s’ started…”What if we had chatted with her longer” … “what if we had arrived at the store later and delayed her departure” …

I’m glad there is a place on facebook where people can write their thoughts to you, Simone.

Rest well sweet angel!

Christmas blessings to your family and friends!

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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At the age of 82, my mother went to heaven on May 22 of this year. For all my 47 years, I spent Christmas with Mom back in our hometown in upstate New York, even the last nine while I’ve been a California resident. This first Christmas without her will be a sad one, but one made more tender by a loving act of kindness.

Yesterday I got a slip in my mailbox to pick up a package at the post office. From the zip code listed, I thought the parcel was from a particular friend who lives near my hometown. Was I surprised to find that it was actually from the manager of the senior citizens’ apartment complex where my mother had lived. He had been very kind to us during my mother’s illness, and here was an unexpected present from him and his wife, whom I had met only once.

Of all the thoughtful gestures extended to me immediately following my mother’s death, theirs had really touched me. When I opened my mother’s apartment and invited her neighbors in to see if there was anything they wanted, the manager’s wife came. It is the only time I’ve ever seen her. She picked up a few things that day and told me to stop by for dinner if I was ever back in the area.

A couple days later, when I was leaving Mom’s apartment for the last time, the manager came out to my car to hug me, and he told me that one of the things his wife picked up was an angel ornament my mother had. Instead of using the ornament at their home, they decided that each year they would put the angel on the Christmas tree in the recreation room of the apartment complex to remember my mother. The thought was so sweet that I burst into tears on the sidewalk.

Well, I opened their package this morning and first read the card. It says Mom’s angel ornament has a special place near the top of the recreation room’s tree. That was enough to start the tears. But then they explained that the present was a stuffed gingerbread man that the wife made by hand and that the material used to make the gingerbread man’s scarf and sack came from my mother’s blanket — another item selected by the wife after Mom’s passing. My eyes were flooded with tears as I opened this precious gift and saw the familiar green and white striped blanket.

It was an incredibly durable wool blanket that we had since I was a kid. It is the one and only blanket I specifically remember because of the stripes. And when my ill mother was going through repeated, alternating periods of high fevers and chills in April and May of this year, she asked me to dig that blanket out of the closet. Even though she was piled high with sheets, blankets, and comforters, she was convinced that ultra-warm wool blanket would stop the extreme and intense chills.

Without knowing the significance of that particular wool blanket, how totally lovely and appropriate that a “stranger” picked that material to make me something so special for this first Christmas. I can’t wait to tell her how much warmth has been provided by her thoughtfulness and those familiar green and white stripes.

~Cathy Richards

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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At Christmas time my children, like so many others, have a wish list a mile long. I decided that I wanted them to know that not all children have a wonderful Christmas. We took them to one of the “wish trees” at a local mall and had them each pick out a child that was the same age as they are. Then we all went to the toy store and picked something that they would like for Christmas and in turn gave it to the child they picked. The kids loved doing this and it soon became a family tradition.

One year money was very tight and I just didn’t know how we were going to buy presents for 3 “extra” children that year. I asked God to help me find some “extra” money somewhere. The very next day a lady knocked on my door and introduced herself as a representative from a major cookie company. They were trying out a new cookie and wanted us to be test subjects. For doing this for them, they would pay quite a little sum. Just about enough for 3 extra gifts! Once again our tradition continued and still continues to this day!

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Did you ever wonder why you never see dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica?

Ever wonder where they go? Wonder no more.

It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird that lives an extremely ordered and complex life.

The penguins have a very strong community bond. They are very committed to their family and will mate for life.

They also maintain a form of compassionate contact with their offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into and buried.

The male penguins then gather in a circle around the freshly dug grave and sing…

…”Freeze a jolly good fellow…”

…Just a little humor to break up your day… (Thanks Roger.)

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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May you always have:
Love to Share,
Health to Spare,
And Friends that Care.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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If you woke up this morning with more health than illness…you are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.

If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation…you are ahead of 500 million people in the world.

If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep…you are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish someplace…you are among the top 8% of the worlds wealthy.

If your parents are still alive and still married…you are very rare, even in the United States.

If you hold up your head with a smile on your face and are truly thankful…you are blessed because the majority can, but most do not.

If you prayed yesterday and today…you are in the minority because you believe God does hear and answer prayers.

If you can read now, you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world that cannot read at all.

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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One day a woman’s husband died, and on that clear, cold morning, in the warmth of their bedroom, the wife was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn’t ‘anymore’.

…No more hugs, no more special moments to celebrate together, no more phone calls just to chat, no more ‘just one minute’.

Sometimes what we care about the most gets all used up and goes away, never to return before we can say, “Goodbye” or say “I love you.”

So while we have it, it’s best we love it, care for it, fix it when it’s broken and heal it when it’s sick.

This is true for marriage…and old cars, and children with bad report cards, and dogs with bad hips, family, aging parents and grandparents.

We keep them because they are worth it…because we are worth it.

Some things we keep—like a best friend who moved away or a sister-in-law after divorce.

There are just some things that make us happy, no matter what.

Life is important.

We only have one.

We only have one Mom, one Dad, one unique brother or sister or friend.

I received this from someone who thought I was a ‘keeper’! Thanks Roger.

Now I’m sharing it here on my Blog…because I think of you in the same way.

Suppose one morning you never wake up.

Do all your friends know you love them?

I was thinking…I could die today, tomorrow or next week, and I wondered if I had any wounds needing to be healed, friendships that needed rekindling or three words needing to be said.

Let every one of your friends, and your family, know you love them. Even if you think they don’t love you back.

You would be amazed at what those three little words and a smile can do.

And just in case God calls me home…

I love ya!

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Your presence is a present to the world.
You are unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.

Count your blessings, not your troubles.
You will make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.

Do not put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal and you prize.

Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.
The longer one carries a problem the heavier it gets.
Do not take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.

Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot … goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life’s treasure, are people together.

Realize that it is never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have hearth and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.

AND DO NOT EVER FORGET. …
FOR EVEN A DAY
HOW VERY SPECIAL YOU ARE!

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

What I read in the newspaper headline wasn’t that alarming: “Toddler wiggled out of Mom’s arms” it said.

But it was the story that made me cry because, as a mother having teenagers, I could relate to when my children were young—to imagine holding my 15-month-old infant and have him wiggle out of my grasp while I’m distracted by his toddler sister and have him accidentally fall over a balcony railing and plunge 15 meters to the airport floor below…and die…is just utterly devastating!

The family was hysterical. As would anyone be at the loss of a child, no matter what the circumstances.

The mother feels guilty…that she could have avoided the tragedy…that she should never have let it happen…that she was supposed to be the protector (What could I have done to prevent it? What should I have done differently? –All are questions we ask ourselves when we review everything in our mind…when we go over and over the situation in an attempt to “figure it out” and cope.).

But it was an accident. Just because you feel guilt feelings doesn’t mean there is something to feel guilty about! (If your close friend was in this situation do you think your friend should feel guilty? Don’t expect more for yourself or be harder on yourself or more critical of yourself than you’d think appropriate for a friend.)

Guilt often intensifies the sense of loss and can initiate feelings of self-doubt, especially if the guilt won’t “go away”. And it can destroy relationships if the destructive feelings aren’t attended to…and in cases like this the partner may see it as the spouse having failed in parental responsibility, even though it was an unfortunate accident. And if they are unable to comfort or support one another, it can lead to divorce.

When a death occurs people often try to find someone or something to blame.

Yes, anger and guilt are often intertwined. Guilt can be described as anger turned inward…and it’s a normal grief reaction.

If you are caught up in these emotions find a safe way to release the anger.

Allow yourself to cry.

Be honest about your feelings.

Surround yourself with supportive people.

And if the emotions seem illogical and you are not able to look at things differently, seek counseling where you can sit down and describe what you are feeling, what you are feeling guilty about and how it is affecting you.

“Rest in peace little angel” was a message on one of the cards placed among flowers and stuffed animals at the scene of the Toronto airport accident.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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