The Miracle of Nicholas Harry
written by: Dawn DeBraal
@DawnDebraal
As a resident of Evelhard Retirement Home, Mr. Nicholas Harry occupied room twelve. The burly man with a long beard and boisterous laugh was a staff favorite. He appeared to have a heart of gold and the patience of a saint. His diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease put him in a home when he could no longer care for himself.
Fran Wright, a home staff member, always enjoyed seeing the man on the days she worked. Nicholas, a man of few words, always said, “Good morning,” to her. Mr. Harry’s indomitable spirit made Fran feel happy when interacting with him.
Wendy Darling, another notable resident, resided in room nine. She had fallen very ill the day before Christmas. Nicolas came to see her and brought along a giant lollipop. Fran wondered where he got such a big sucker; they didn’t sell those in the gift shop.
“She can’t eat that, Harry,” Fran told him, pointing out the obvious.
“I know, but it’s bright and pretty, and she can see it. Most of all, she knows it is a gift from me.” Fran patted him on the back and told him he was a giving soul as she led him from the room. Mildred, the home’s cat, scooted through the opening, settling herself on the recliner next to Wendy’s bed.
Fran sighed and touched Wendy’s cheek. “It won’t be long now, Wendy; Mildred is here,” she whispered reassuringly. As the official pet of the Evelhard home, Mildred, a gray tabby, had taken up the habit of sitting in the rooms of seriously ill people, staying with them until they passed, or disappearing mysteriously if their health improved. It was as if the cat knew when a patient’s time on earth was up and wouldn’t let them die alone.
Fran checked Wendy’s vitals, moved her to her side, and placed a pillow behind her. She didn’t want Wendy to get bed sores.
“Come Mildred, kitty, kitty,” the cat looked through the caregiver with a blank, unwavering stare. “Suit yourself.” Fran closed the door; someone would be by later during their rounds to let Mildred out.
The aide went to the whiteboard in the staff room to write Wendy’s updates, noting that Mildren had taken up “watch” in Wendy’s room so the night staff would know what was going on.
Fran’s co-worker, Sadie, came to write her notes. “Oh no, Mildred has moved into Wendy’s room?”
“Yes, she didn’t want to leave,” Fran said.
“That doesn’t sound good for Wendy, does it,” Sadie said sadly.
“Who knows, sometimes Mildred helps them get better.” Fran defended.
“More times not,” Sadie patted Fran on the back and went to the next room. Every resident was prepped for bedtime, and the staff moved through the building with practiced efficiency.
When the clock chimed midnight Christmas morning, Mildred stood, crossing over to the bed where she circled, putting herself next to Wendy to watch the woman’s last breaths. That’s when Nicholas came into the room.
“No, Mildred, scat.” He picked the cat off Wendy’s bed and scooted her out the door, taking Mildred’s place in the reclining chair. Then he began talking to Wendy, telling her tall tales from his life.
At one in the morning, Fran went to check on Wendy before calling it an evening and found Nicholas asleep in the recliner. She touched his shoulder gently.
“Nicholas, it’s time for bed,” Fran whispered. The elderly man’s eyes opened, and he looked at Wendy in the light cast through the parking lot window, watching her chest rise and fall.
“She’s going to make it through the night. I needed to let Mildred out. I am quite fond of Mrs. Darling, er, I mean, Wendy. I didn’t want her to be alone in her battle, but for now, she has beaten the shadow of death.”
Nicholas stood and touched Wendy’s cheek. “Good night, Wendy. I will be back for you in the morning. Wait for me. Rest easy.” That was such an odd way of saying it. Fran’s heart went out to the gentleman; he and Wendy had grown so close.
Nicholas turned to Fran, wishing her a good night, leaving the aid beside Wendy’s bed. Between Wendy and Nicholas, there was unspoken Christmas magic going on. Fran checked on her client one last time before leaving that evening.
“Good night, Wendy; I hope to see you in the morning,” she whispered.
As Fran left the building, she spied Mildred, who was now asleep at the front desk. Apparently, the cat was no longer on death watch and wished the night staff a good evening.
On Christmas day, Fran clocked into work. She didn’t mind being here on the holiday because she had no family nearby to celebrate with, so spending this day with her work family was an honor.
“Good morning, everyone!” Fran called as she walked into the day room. Several people responded half-heartedly. It was Christmas morning, and the folks who had gathered in the public area waiting for breakfast felt forgotten. A ruckus made her look toward the noisy procession.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Nicholas was dressed in a Santa suit with a sack full of gifts slung over his back. He walked into the room, lighting it up with his infectious happiness. The temperature of the dayroom changed with the spreading of cheer as the elderly man put a gift into each person’s hand.
Fran wondered where Nicholas had gotten the money, suit, and wrapping paper. And how had he wrapped all those gifts with his shaky hands?
It didn’t matter because Nicholas’s joy was infectious. Mrs. Beam sat down at the piano and began playing Christmas tunes. Then, the kitchen staff came out with hot chocolate and marshmallows, and all the residents seemed happy.
The breakfast bell chimed. Those who could walk went first, and those needing assistance were pushed to the tables where waffles with whipping cream beards, cherry noses, and chocolate chip eyes were served.
Everyone clapped at such a clever idea. Fran moved from table to table, helping her clients cut their waffles and put jam or syrup on them.
When everyone ate, the aide realized Nicholas was not in the dining room. She told her co-worker she would check on Nicholas and peek in on Wendy.
“He probably got stuck in the suit. I’ll help him, and then I’ll see if Wendy wants breakfast.”
The door to room twelve was decorated with candy canes whose glitter dropped on the floor when Fran opened it, receiving no response to her knock.
“Nicholas?” Fran pushed the door wider, seeing the elderly gentleman, still in his pajamas, on the bed with his hands folded over his stomach.
“Nicholas?” Before she touched him, she knew he was gone.
His hand felt cold. How had Nicholas been handing out presents in the day room not an hour ago?
“Oh, Nicholas,” Fran sat down next to him, gathering her thoughts, before she was forced to notify everyone. She felt the sudden need to check on Mrs. Darling, who had been at death’s door last night before her miraculous recovery.
In room nine, Mildred, the house cat, raced out into the hall, leaving Mrs. Darling in her bed, still warm to the touch.
“Oh, Wendy,” Fran brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Wendy had waited for Nicholas. They had an extraordinary bond and left this world hours apart.
Fran closed the door behind her, fighting back tears.
“Is everything alright?” Sadie asked, seeing the look on Fran’s face, who let go of the urge to fight her grief.
“They are both gone,” she sobbed.
“That can’t be. Wendy was cheery this morning when I went in to check on her, and Nicholas handed out presents to the residents just a little over an hour ago.”
“That’s impossible, Sadie; he must have passed sometime last night. I saw what you saw, but it couldn’t have happened like that. Wendy must have passed away a few minutes ago. I need to call the coroner.” Sadie opened the door; her face fell, seeing Wendy in that state.
“She died alone.”
“No, Mildred was with her,” Fran reassured her co-worker.
She finished her phone call when Fran heard everyone calling, “Merry Christmas!” Following the sound of cheery voices, Fran was stunned to see Nicholas dressed in the Santa suit, holding Wendy’s hand, leaving the building.
“I don’t believe this,” Sadie whispered, for she and Fran were the only ones who knew the truth that Christmas morning.
The door alarms didn’t go off when they opened, allowing a cold wind laden with snow to fly in and dust the floor. The two were gone in a flash. Fran ran to the window to see Nicholas helping Wendy into Santa’s sleigh tied to some reindeer.
“No way!” Fran gasped.
“I am not seeing this,” Sadie said, standing beside Fran.
When the coroner came, Nicholas and Wendy had left the home together, holding hands, as far as the residents knew.
Mr. Frederick, the coroner, stepped into the staff room to pick up Fran’s files on Wendy and Nicholas for his report.
“I’ll be,” he whispered.
“What is it?” Fran asked.
“What are the odds that a man named Nicholas Saint died on Christmas Day?”
“His name was Nicholas Harry,” Fran said, confused.
“No, look.” He pulled up the corner of the paper that had been folded down, obscuring Nicholas’ last name. The file read Nicholas Harry Saint.
“His name was Saint Nicholas, with his last name first, and Mrs. Darling? That was the name of the older sister in Peter Pan. One of the Darling children who could fly with the help of magic dust.”
Fran shook her head in disbelief. It all made sense now. Nicholas’s love for everyone and Wendy’s spirit of adventure had come together that Christmas morning to create a miracle.
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