The Miracle of Christmas Night

On the fourth floor of the Pediatrics department, where coughs mingled with the steady hum of the IV drip, Mai carefully removed the bandages from Dung's thin arm. The six-year-old boy, who had been battling leukemia for almost a year, lay nestled in a pristine white blanket. Today, Dung's gaze remained fixed on the gray window frame, where the crimson leaves of the Terminalia catappa tree trembled in the biting wind.

Mai bent down slightly:

- Are you very tired today, Dung?

The boy shook his head slightly:

- I... I miss Christmas.

- Why did you suddenly remember that?

- Last year, Mom promised to take me to see the Christmas tree in the town square for Christmas. She said it was beautiful…

Dũng left the sentence unfinished, his eyes lowered.

Mai gently smoothed back the sparse strands of hair on the boy's forehead, feeling her heart skip a beat.

As Mai finished her shift and stepped out onto the street, her eyes inadvertently fell upon a crudely made Christmas tree in the guard booth at the corner of the gate. A thought flashed through her mind, leaving her frozen in the cold wind: "I will bring Christmas to this adorable little boy!"

That thought made Mai smile softly, her heart suddenly warming as if she had just drunk a sip of hot tea. Mai strolled through the shops along the road, but the ready-made Christmas trees were all too big or too gaudy. Just as she was about to give up, she saw a small craft shop. On the shelf was a Christmas tree made of wood and green wool, less than two handspans tall, decorated with a few stars made of silver foil and a small string of battery-powered lights.

"This is the last one!" the shop owner said. Mai hugged it to her chest as if it were a warm flame in the middle of winter.

The next morning, Mai brought the Christmas tree to the hospital. Dung was still lying with his face to the wall, hugging a small white rabbit-shaped pillow. When Mai placed the tree on the bedside table and turned on the light, he stirred. Dung opened his eyes wide; his sleepiness seemed to vanish. Before him, tiny specks of light from the Christmas tree danced, casting a warm, vibrant glow on his thin face.

- Ms. Mai, is this… really for me?

Yes, it's Christmas. I'm giving it to you!

Dũng hastily propped himself up. The warm yellow light reflected in the boy's eyes, transforming his usually melancholic eyes into something radiant, as if containing a thousand stars.

It's so beautiful! Just like something out of a fairy tale.

Do you like it?

- I like it! I like it very much!

For the first time in weeks, Mai saw Dung's smile so radiant. Dung timidly reached out his thin finger and gently touched the silver star:

- Excuse me, miss! Why is it so sparkly?

Because you're looking at it with eyes that believe in miracles!

Dũng suddenly fell silent. He stared intently at the light reflecting off the stark white wall, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

"Excuse me, ma'am! If I make a wish to this pine tree, will it hear me?"

- You never know. Christmas is the season of wonders!

The boy bowed his head and whispered:

Then I wish you would stop crying, Mom.

As darkness enveloped the hospital, Dung's mother pushed open the door and stepped inside. The weariness on her face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of astonishment as her eyes met the corner table illuminated by the twinkling lights.

- Ms. Mai, did you prepare this? Wow! The room looks so bright and airy.

Dũng exclaimed, his voice clear and bright:

- Mom, do you see? That's my Christmas tree! Aunt Mai gave it to me!

The mother took Mai's hand, her voice choked with emotion:

Thank you so much! For the past few days, the little boy has been lying listlessly, not even wanting to eat porridge, just staring at the ceiling and sighing. But now he's smiling!

She secretly wiped away a tear that had just rolled down her cheek.

The three of them stood there, surrounded by four walls reeking of disinfectant, gazing at the flickering pine tree. It was small and fragile, like a resilient candle in the dead of night.

As the year drew to a close, Dung's condition worsened. The pain tormented his small body, yet Dung still whispered new wishes to Mai each day—sometimes hoping his friends would be discharged from the hospital, other times worrying about his mother lacking warm clothes… Not once did he wish for his own pain to stop. Mai could only listen in silence, not daring to look directly into those clear eyes, afraid she would burst into tears and shatter this precious moment of peace.

"Auntie Mai, do adults have wishes?" Dung's innocent question echoed amidst the beeping of the monitoring device.

Yes, son.

- So, what do you wish for?

She wished for a miracle to happen, so that everyone here could go home and be reunited with their families.

On Christmas Eve, Mai went into the room to change the IV drip. Under the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, Dung lay still like a sleeping angel. But suddenly, his breathing became ragged, like the sound of sawing wood. Mai touched his hand and recoiled in surprise. His body was burning hot. The readings on the machine were starting to show red warnings.

Just a few minutes later, the rumbling of the ambulance wheels ripped through the quiet hallway. Dung was wheeled into the Emergency Room. Outside the cold glass door, Mai stood frozen, her fingers gripping her woolen scarf until they turned white. The door swung open. The doctor stepped out, shaking his head slightly.

- We are doing everything we can… but the prognosis is very poor. The family should prepare themselves.

Dung's mother collapsed, her whole body falling onto the waiting bench.

As if remembering something, Mai rushed back to Dung's old hospital room. In the thick darkness, the small pine tree still persistently shone, flickering with a peaceful, heart-wrenching rhythm.

If miracles truly exist in this world… please grant them to that boy. Just a little bit!

Time dragged on in an eerie silence. Suddenly, the doctor's voice rang out, urgent:

- Mai! Come here and help! Quickly!

On the sterile white hospital bed, Dung's eyes slowly opened.

- Miss Mai...

- It's me. I'm here with you, Dung!

- Is the pine tree still lit up, miss?

Mai sobbed, clutching her small, increasingly cold hand:

- It's morning. It's still very bright, my child! It's waiting for you to come home and admire it.

The doctor put down the stethoscope, his voice a mixture of surprise and relief:

- It's alright. The heart rate has stabilized. The critical period is over for now.

The mother's heart-wrenching cries mingled with the distant church bells, heralding the arrival of a peaceful Christmas.

That Christmas, the miracle didn't come from the sky, but blossomed right in the hospital room reeking of disinfectant. No glamour, no fanfare, the miracle was simply the heartbeat of a child continuing to beat after a critical condition.

A week later, when Mai returned, Dung was fiddling with a piece of paper folded in quarters.

"This is my thank-you letter to Santa Claus!" the boy proudly showed off.

- Did you receive any gifts?

Yes. Please give me more time to see my mother smile.

On the day Dung was discharged from the hospital, the spring sunshine had begun to filter through the windowpane. Mai placed a small pine branch in the boy's hand. Dung took it, pressed it against his thin chest, and whispered:

- I will keep it forever. It is my light.

Mai smiled. She knew the road ahead was still full of challenges, but she believed that if the small wooden pine tree became a source of spiritual support, then life would still generously bestow miracles upon people, as long as they never give up hope.

Time flew by. On a Christmas Eve many years later, when Mai had transferred to a different department, she unexpectedly received a special letter:

Dear Ms. Mai!

It's me, Dung. I'm really better now. This year, I decorated the big Christmas tree for the whole family myself. But in the corner of my study desk, I still keep the tiny Christmas tree that my teacher gave me a long time ago. My mother said it's not just a tree, it's a lucky charm that saved my life.

"My Christmases are always bright because every time I turn on the lights, I remember you. Thank you for kindling hope when I was most afraid of the darkness."

After reading the last line, Mai looked out the window, where the city lights twinkled like a thousand stars. A small Christmas tree also shone on her desk. She smiled, a peaceful smile. Perhaps it was very cold outside, but in this moment, Mai felt that Christmas had never felt so warm and complete.

Linh Chau

Source: https://baolongan.vn/phep-mau-dem-giang-sinh-a209388.html