Letter to the editor

Dear Editor, Last week I was asked “Just where is Brady, Texas'” You know the answer; “Brady is the heart of Texas.” We seldom express our heart felt feelings publicly, but Sept. 11 has broadened our attitudes and our President has brought the heart of Texas into world affairs! This letter is a tribute to dear Brady people who have hearts as big as Texas. Fifty years ago, my youngest daughter was born in the old Brady hospital where, thirty years before, my mother had prayed the “prayer of relinquishment” (as my dad told me), giving her 20-month-old Mildred to his sister before she left us. Sixty years ago, I had my first daughter in Brady hospital where I lived through 33 days of near-fatal illness and surgery and the first blood transfusion and sulfa drugs. The new Dr. Ricks got the Sulfa from the army base and told later doctors helping with surgeries on my body, “She has nine lives, like a cat, don’t be afraid.” My first blood transfusion was given by Joe Myrick, the night watchman, the only available emergency source. On Stella’s birthday two years later our first son, Tommy, was born here. Only two years ago, I learned that his hemophilia was caused by lack of vitamin B12 (from my loss of many yards of small intestine, where B12 is made). Born in Brady hospital, he had many blood donors from here. Doug was the answer to many prayers and a medical miracle’no hemophilia then’born one day before the Feb. 22 birthday of his two older siblings. My youngest, 10 years after the first one, was also born in Brady hospital and was never told she had a twin, who did not survive, until Doug married Karon Clevenger, a twin to Sharon. They were born in Brady hospital a few days before my twins. This now 50-year-old daughter was asked to write and read a poem for the Austin Poetry Club last Saturday. Karon faxed a copy for Pat’s mother; I shall share it with the dear people in the Heart of Texas in loving appreciation. MILDRED V. McWILLIAMS Christmas 2001 “Granny,” came a worried little voice, “with all of this war, can Santa deliver to children afar'” On TV, I saw explosions and children were hurt, their homes and streets gone, leaving them in the dirt.” “No stores were left, Granny, so they can’t buy toys, Santa’s just got to find those good girls and boys! And Uncle Mike left with his gun and duffel bag, Is he going to shoot those children, already so sad'” “Oh, God,” cried a voice inside my head, Give me the right words before I put him to bed. Whisper in my ear some marvelous rhyme, Or a soothing poem of an earlier time.” “Send me a Bible verse, a happy Christmas story. Maybe Rudolph would work with his fabled nose of glory.” Words are so elusive when you have the most need. I struggled for the words that would plant the right seed. Calming my turmoil, a peace settled in And I gave thanks for an answer that would let his heart mend. “Silly boy,” I said, to the child hugging so tight. “Don’t you know that Santa looks for scouts on Christmas Eve night.” “Uncle Mike in his lookout in the vast desert sand, Will find a safe place for Santa to land. He’ll guide him down through the fire in the sky, And show him the camps where the children lie.” “They’ll get their presents at the breaking of dawn. The scouts, like Uncle Mike, will help him along. Remember, soldiers fight for children to be safe and warm And against all the evil that could bring them harm.” “1st Cavalry has thousands of soldiers, who just like you, know Santa Claus is precious to all children, too. Set your mind at ease and close your little eyes For Santa and soldiers have very close ties.” Written in honor of SSG Michael C. Williams Scout, 1st CAV Division, Ft. Hood, Texas. By Patty Rodgers

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