Spring 2008 | Keeping Faith / Justin Lindhorst

Often times in life we come to learn things of great value when we least expect it. At seventeen-years-old I was your typical teenager. I was coming closer to adulthood, yearning to spread my wings, be independent, and experience life. In addition to the myriad of issues most people this age deal with, I was a little bit bitter. I was finally just comfortable enough to share with my close friends my status of having severe hemophilia, but still became very frustrated with the fact that out of 5,000 male births, I was the one to be born with a bleeding disorder. I loathed constantly sticking myself, dealing with bleeds and the host of other concerns that come with having a bleeding disorder. This bitterness, this loathing led to extreme skepticism when it came to matters such as faith, divine intervention, and people watching over us from above.

Throughout childhood whenever I seemed to be in a tough spot, be it a bleed, the flu, or just a really bad day, my Grandma would always remind me that Charlie was watching over me, and my family and that everything would be okay. Charlie was my uncle who also had hemophilia but died of complications a few years before I was born.

Much as I believed in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, I took her words to be true. As I reached my pre-teen years, I came to learn the truth about such figures as Santa, Peter Rabbit, and a tooth-stealing fairy, coupled with my growing aggravation that I had to be born with a bleeding disorder; I easily forgot and discredited my grandmother’s assertions.

This skepticism surely would have stayed with me, lingering into adulthood until that unforgettable summer evening at my grandparents.

The evening was finally winding down. My grandmother, mother, and a few of my aunts were cleaning in the kitchen, my father and uncles were gathered on the patio just outside the house and I sat with my cousins and a few of my aunts who had managed to sneak out of kitchen duty around a campfire in the back of my grandparent’s wooded yard. I am still unsure how the conversation got started but soon we were all talking about Charlie. As our aunts told us stories, we all smiled and I confessed how much I would have like to have met him; somebody who could understand, somebody who had experienced all that I had and more.

I asked my aunt if she thought Charlie was with us, watching down over us. She immediately answered, “Yes.” As the conversation continued, at some point I insisted that if he was indeed watching over us that he could send us a sign. Another one of my aunts agreed and said many times while lingering over thoughts of her brother she would see birds. She noted that our sign from Charlie could be a bird coming unusually close.

My skepticism was on fire. Birds are everywhere, of course she would see them, whether thinking of Charlie or not. Whence more, it was past midnight in front of a smoldering fire! I made not one mention of my skepticism, but rather sat back in my chair as we continued to talk and ask questions regarding the uncle I never met.

Our conversation continued for some time and I had all but forgotten about the “sign” we requested when suddenly my cousin shouted, “LOOK!” and pointed wildly towards my grandfather’s gardening shed in the corner of the yard. Sure enough, a single bird had perched on the roof. All conversation stopped as we rose from our seats and guided our attention to our visitor. Within moments the bird flew from the shed and perched even closer on a low tree branch a couple of yards from the fire. All remained silent as the bird flew from the tree to a small lattice work fence only feet from where we were standing. It was there that he began to sing. Such a song I would never be able to fully describe using words alone. The melody was soothing, exotic, and even electrifying. Such energy moved through the air that it was almost palpable. Time seemed to stand still and then, as quickly as he came, the song ended and our visitor flew off to the field behind my grandparent’s property.

To this day none of us can say exactly how long it lasted. For a moment I stood, stunned, my skepticism smoldering just like the tired camp fire before us. As if coming out of a spell, I noticed my cousin was holding my hand and many were crying. I looked up and saw that my aunts were practically running back to the house, where they greeted my grandmother with such tears that it took much time for the entire story to come out straight.

After that night and as I look back on my life, I can now see where Charlie was with me. Born in 1982, I managed to slip past HIV, conquer an inhibitor, and later beat Hepatitis C with no treatment whatsoever. This is a very personal story for me, and to this day when I share it, goose bumps prickle up and down my arms. So whenever a bleed slows me down, or just when life starts getting overwhelming I take comfort in the fact that there are those above us who truly watch over us.

Although I never met him, I feel a deep connection with my Uncle Charlie. Though our community has lost much, let my story be a testament to you. Always keep faith when times are tough, remain resilient, and take comfort in the fact that we have an entire score of people just like Charlie watching over all of us.