MAGICAL CHRISTMAS
That morning, like every other morning for years, I was begging at the entrance of the parking lot in Plaza Mayor. It was Christmas Eve. Memories of my childhood came to mind when my father took my sister and me by the hand during the holidays and wandered through the market stalls scattered around the square, showcasing all kinds of toys. When we returned home, my mother would welcome us with open arms, showering us with kisses and making us feel loved. How different my life is now!
Someone interrupted my thoughts, dropping a coin onto the blanket I used to shield myself from the cold. I looked up to thank them, but they replied with something I couldn’t understand.
I hadn’t eaten since the previous day, and suddenly, I felt unwell. A wave of dizziness forced me to lie down on my blanket. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Then I heard the distant sound of an ambulance siren and felt someone grab my arm. I don’t remember anything after that.
When I regained consciousness in a hospital bed, I was met with a pair of intensely blue eyes watching me with concern.
“How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?”
“You were brought here by ambulance. This is the Doce de Octubre Hospital. You had a fainting spell.”
“I feel fine, but my head hurts a little.”
“I’m Angela, your nurse. Now rest. The doctor will be here to see you shortly.”
Some time passed, which felt like an eternity, and then the doctor came in, accompanied by Angela.
“The test results show nothing abnormal. It’s just anemia. When was the last time you ate?”
“Two days ago, I had a sandwich and some fruit that someone bought for me.”
“You should consider going to a shelter. You’d be better nourished there, and they’d take care of you.”
“Thank you, doctor. I sometimes visit the soup kitchen run by the Sisters of Charity on Martínez Campos Street, but I always end up returning to Plaza Mayor.”
The doctor nodded and left. It was noon. I was alone and dejected, yet I didn’t want to leave the hospital. It offered me comfort, a refuge, something to shield me from my own existence.
A little while later, Angela entered the room decisively and said:
“You’re being discharged. Today is Christmas Eve. Would you like to come to my house for dinner?”
I couldn’t hold back my tears. I nodded, overwhelmed. For years, I hadn’t had anyone to spend such a special evening with.
“Thank you so much. I don’t want to intrude. Surely, your family wouldn’t want a stranger in their home tonight.”
“I’m alone. My husband died in a car accident, and I don’t have anyone. Since then, I’ve spent these holidays alone at home.”
We had dinner at her house. Angela was an exceptional cook. We enjoyed a wonderful meal, with a tablecloth, wine glasses, and exquisite dishes I will always remember. She started telling me about her life, the tragic loss of her husband, and the joy she found in her work at the hospital, which she considered her calling.
On Christmas morning, I woke up after the blessing of sleeping in a bed with clean sheets. After breakfast, Angela asked:
“Would you like to attend Mass?”
“Yes, but I’m not dressed appropriately for church.”
“In my wardrobe, I have suits that belonged to Alberto, my husband. I’ve struggled to part with them. He was about your height. Would you like to try one on?”
She returned with several suits, underwear, and shoes.
The suit I tried on fit as if it were made for me.
“It looks great on you. If you’d like, I can pack these suits in a small suitcase for you. I’m sure Alberto would be happy knowing you could use them.”
We went to Mass, and afterward, she said:
“Today, we’re going to celebrate that we met. I’m treating you to lunch at a nice restaurant.”
We spent a long time chatting after the meal, discussing the plight of the homeless and her joy in helping others. By dusk, we returned to her home.
“If you don’t mind, you can help me in the kitchen, and we’ll prepare a nice dinner.”
“Angela, I don’t know how to cook.”
“Don’t worry. It’s easy. You can help me chop onions, garlic, and parsley. With those three ingredients, we can create amazing dishes.”
Dinner was simple but delicious. I thanked her for everything she was doing for me. That night, alone in my room, I knelt and prayed for the two days during which I’d had the privilege of knowing an angel.
On December 26th, I woke up in a hospital bed. I rang the bell, and several nurses appeared immediately.
“Could you please call Angela? I don’t know why I’m here.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no nurse named Angela here.”
“Am I at the Doce de Octubre Hospital?”
“Yes. You’ve been here since December 24th, when you collapsed. You’ve been in a coma since then.”
“That’s impossible. I was discharged on the 24th and have been with a nurse from this hospital ever since.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve been in a coma from Christmas Eve until now. You suffered a cardiac arrest, but fortunately, there were no lasting consequences.”
It couldn’t be true. There had to be a mistake. Angela had given me the gift of a joyful Christmas, and now they wanted me to believe those days never happened.
I stayed in the hospital for a few more days. Upon discharge, someone mentioned that a small suitcase had been left for me. It was in my locker—it was the suitcase with Alberto’s suits that Angela had prepared for me.
I left the hospital, both astonished and bewildered, returning to my spot at the Plaza Mayor parking lot, reflecting on Angela’s miracle. We never addressed each other informally, and I never told her my name.