Oma doesn’t seem to recognize me anymore. Sometimes, when I write down my name, she’ll repeat it. I’m not sure though she understands who “Dani” is. She’s told me she doesn’t know me. She actually doesn’t speak much. Only very rarely, just a word here and there. She sits in a wheel-chair and needs help with pretty much everything – except for eating and reading. Yes, she can still eat alone. And boy, does she eat! Every time I visit her, she spoons away. Amazingly, she still doesn’t need reading glasses either. When I write, her blue eyes will read along as the words form on the paper. I have no idea if she understands the content, but since she repeats words, she must be able to decipher my handwriting. Sometimes when I visit, she’s attentive and eager to read my messages. On other days, she’ll read but otherwise appears rather uninterested.

When I look at her, I know she doesn’t have much time left on this planet. Despite spooning away, she’s only bones covered by paper-thin skin. There are bruises on her arms and legs. Some-times she makes sounds as if in pain, but when you ask her, she won’t respond. She must be okay because she’ll let you know when she doesn’t want something. The other day she let out a clear “Na!” (meaning “no”) when I asked her if she wanted another drink. A little while later, when I tried again, she let out another loud “Na!”

I looked up the word “miracle” in Merriam-Webster. It’s defined as an outstanding or unusual event or thing characterized by divine intervention. To me Oma’s body truly is a miracle and ex-hibits a divine touch. Every time I look at her, it amazes me how robust and tough her body is. It doesn’t matter that Oma’s body is slowly decaying and she can’t walk anymore, that she’s forgotten who I am, and that Death’s visibly knocking on her door. There’s something inside of her that wants to live and makes her eat. Even on days when she’s absolutely passive, she’ll spoon away, and her eyes will wander over what I write.

Oma’s condition has made me think a lot about life, about dying and growing. While her bond with me will end in the not-too-distant future, a bond between me and another person is growing. My whole life I’ve wanted a pen friend, and I’ve had a few in the past. Two of them were from Japan, for example. None of them have lasted long though. And just when I’d given up for good, my pen friend came along. It’s intriguing to watch our friendship grow. From the first short letters to longer ones. And as the months pass by, you can’t help thinking at some point we must run out of things to say. But we don’t. On the contrary, the more we learn about each other, the more we find to talk about. A year later, it’s still exciting to use my fountain pen on my colorful stationary and glitz it up with all kinds of stickers. Or when I travel, it’s fun to search for postcards I can send to the one person I know will keep them in a special place and will send me cards back.

If you’re a writer, dear Reader, you know finding people who actually enjoy writing long letters is an almost impossible encounter. And finding someone who takes your friendship as seriously, and is just as devoted as you yourself, that is a true miracle, and certainly one bursting of divine intervention. I still can’t believe such a miracle has happened to me.

Perhaps there’s nothing miraculous about me finally having found a pen friend or about Oma’s wilting body. Perhaps assuming some divine influence is even more far-fetched. After all, as human beings we do tend to read too much into pure chance. I, however, can’t look at Oma without being amazed at what a human body can endure, and every time I receive a letter or card from my friend, I’m amazed at the devotion he puts into our friendship. Could all this that means so much to me really be nothing but pure chance? Whatever we choose to call Oma’s body and my friendship – “miracles” or “pure chance” – both of them fill my heart with warmth and gratitude.

Our world clearly is a materialistic place. Masses of people pushing through stores to purchase Christmas presents. Rather than carefully considering one meaningful gift, they aim for quantity. It’s definitely cool to receive lots of presents, but the happiness of receiving so many things will be short-lived. Yes, I received some Christmas presents too. Mainly stationary and stickers, and I’m excited to share them with my friend in future letters. However, I know if I only had a simple pencil and white paper, he would be just as happy about my letters.

Seeing Oma spoon away and receiving letters from my friend are miracles I treasure. I know Oma will die sooner rather than later, but as long as she keeps eating, I know she’s okay. And every time my friend writes me, I’m assured I’ll never be alone in this world because there’s someone who cares so much about me to write me every day. And for both these divine gifts I’m eternally grateful.

Daniela Ribitsch teaches German at Lycoming College.