Sara M. Bertucci
1412 N. St. Mary's Drive, Eveleth, Minnesota 55734
sarbear_@hotmail.com

A special gift symbolizes the strength of a family's love.

The day after the holiday tree went up, there it was, the first present of the holiday season, and it was huge! My brother and I ran to the tree that Monday afternoon, both of us praying the gift was for one of us. As we scrambled to find the tag on that big, bright red box, we shared guesses as to who would be the lucky recipient of this wonderful gift.

"Auntie Michelle, perhaps," my brother said.

"No, Mom usually gets her a plate or something. Lucas, that's who it's for, Lucas." I could see my brother agreed, but cocky little guy that he is, my brother said, "It could be for Lucas. But, I think it's for me!"

As the days went on, the space beneath the tree became smaller until the area around it was overflowing with presents. My mother was adding gifts rapidly. Every time I looked, there was another box wrapped in holiday paper. But the one present that stuck in my mind was that big red box with the shiny metallic gold bow. It seemed to get bigger and bigger each day as my anticipation to find out who it was for became more intense.

Finally Christmas Eve arrived! To my surprise, the box remained under the tree while we celebrated at my aunt's house that evening. It had become a tradition in my family to attend festivities with my mother's family on Christmas Eve, to open gifts at home that night, and to spend the actual holiday with my father's family. In keeping with this custom, we arrived home that cold December evening and changed into more comfortable clothing for the night.

As my mother made us hot chocolate, my brother and I waited patiently for my father to hand out the gifts, an honor reserved for the oldest man in the family. I stared silently at the Christmas tree, watching the old-fashioned glass bulbs blink bright colors which lit up the ornaments around them and made the whole room seem to sparkle. My grandparents had made it a custom to give each of the grandchildren an ornament every year for the Christmas tree. This made our tree unique because my grandparents spent many winter seasons in Palm Beach, Florida, to avoid the cold weather. Every year, weeks before Christmas, boxes with ornaments from Florida would arrive for each of us.

Though the tree was beautiful, I could not help but think how bare it seemed this year without Lucas' ornaments. We had gone up to the group home where he lived and decorated his room with the ornaments he had received over the years.

When my mother was finally finished in the kitchen, we began to open gifts one at a time so that we might share the excitement of our good fortune with each other. From my grandfather, I had received the one thing I asked for that Christmas, a book of piano music from my favorite musical. I thought this would surely be my most prized gift of the season. As my family members opened their presents, I sat thinking about all the good fortune we have had in our lives. Then I glanced under the tree and saw that gold bow shimmering in the light of the bulbs. "Maybe we are supposed to bring it to Grandma's tomorrow morning," I thought to myself as I began to clean up the mess of torn wrapping paper and boxes. Then, as I began to get up to go to my room, my mother cried, "Wait! I almost forgot." She looked at my brother and said, "James, hand me that box from the corner there, the red one."

In disappointment, Jamie handed her the big box. Clearly, Mother had been as anxious as I waiting for the moment when I would open this gift. I ripped it open, throwing torn red paper everywhere. This was unusual in that I generally like to save paper if at all possible, a trait I picked up from my grandmother. But this was one of those rare occasions where I was so excited I didn't stop to think about anything but reaching in that box and finding out what was inside.

As I finally opened the box, I was shocked to find the most beautiful quilt I had ever seen. This work of art was finely crafted and in beautiful soft pastels. It was definitely made by someone with years of experience. The stitching on this masterpiece was perfect, and the material suggested someone with impeccable taste. Tiny mauve roses on beautiful pink squares perfectly offset the sky-blue forget-me-nots on the pale violet border. Obviously, Mom had bought it at one of the many craft fairs she attended with my grandmother.

I screamed "I love it!" as I pulled it out of the box and rubbed its soft cotton material against my face. My mother waited until she knew she had my attention. Then, with a tear in her eye, she proudly proclaimed "Lucas made it!" I looked down at the lovely blanket and began to cry as my mother told me she had picked out the material and Lucas and his classmates had made it just for me. When I finally looked up, I found not only my mother and I were crying, but my brother had started to sniffle, too. And as I looked over to my father, I discovered even he had a tear in his eye. That night, as I lay in my bed with my new quilt tucked snugly around me, I felt so peaceful and safe.

Now, nine months later, this quilt has a new meaning. It helped get me through the hardest time in my life. In March, just three months after I received this quilt, my brother Lucas died in his sleep at the age of eighteen. He lived a good life despite the pain and suffering. But the amazing thing about Lucas was that no matter how much pain he was forced to endure, he always had a smile to share. His life was not confined to a bed and a wheelchair, like most people with his condition. He lived a normal life as much as possible.

Lucas was my "big little brother," as I liked to put it, and I've never loved anyone more than I do him. This quilt reminds me of all the good times Lucas and I had. It reminds me of his smile and his beautiful blue eyes, eyes through which I could see all the good in this world. He taught my family how to truly love life. He taught us to reach out and help others. Now, as I look at this quilt, I realize that everything I do, I do because he could not. I get involved in everything and give every activity my all so that I can say I lived my life to the fullest. I grab on and hold tight to my memories and to life just as I hold tight to this quilt, for I realize it is my security blanket.

Sara M. Bertucci is a Past Honored Queen of Bethel No. 6 in Virginia, Minnesota. She has participated in Job's Daughters for six years and is currently serving as Grand Bethel Junior Custodian. She attends Eveleth–Gilbert High School in Eveleth, Minnesota, and is active in her school's band, flag corps, drama club, choir, SADD chapter, yearbook, and speech team. Though her true passion is acting, she finds much pleasure in writing for her school and local newspapers. Her most rewarding accomplishments have been her Grand Bethel award winning essay on 75 years of Job's Daughters in Minnesota and her personal narrative (published above) which received first place at the 1999 Minnesota Grand Bethel Session.