Len Dozois,  Disaster Services Volunteer

I remember my first Disaster Action Team call like it was yesterday; Christmas Eve, 2005. I was having dinner at my in-law's house. We had just sat down to eat when my cell phone rang. 'Merry Christmas,' I said, not recognizing the phone number that flashed on my screen. 'Len, this is Karen from the Red Cross. We have a single-family fire in Largo, and I need you at the office within an hour.' I agreed, hung up, and quickly ate my meal. Kissing everyone goodbye, I jumped into my car and headed to the office.

I was nervous. This was my first call. Would I remember what to do? What kind of person was this Karen lady? I had never met her. I arrived at the office and quickly met my fellow team members for the first time. Off to Largo we headed. We pulled up to the scene which was visible from several blocks away due to the flashing lights of the fire trucks and police car. My heart sank as I saw three children and a woman standing in front of a tiny burnt-out bungalow. The woman was crying. The oldest son, no more than 12, was holding and comforting her. The two younger children did not seem to realize what was going on. I learned that the father and husband of the family was a migrant worker who was on his way home from Plant City but had no idea that the fire had occurred. He did not own a cell phone.

We immediately went to work doing what Red Cross Disaster Action Team members across the country do. I was tasked with going inside to survey the damage and draw the floor plan. A fireman, and the mother, went with me. Everything was charred black. The home stunk of smoke. The furniture had burned as well as most of the clothes in the open closets. The ceiling had been pulled down by the fire crew in order to expose burning roof timbers. It was a depressing scene on any day, but especially so on Christmas Eve.

I looked in the corner of the living room and there stood the remains of a melted 4-foot artificial Christmas tree. Below the tree were five burned gifts; one for each family member, I assumed. Their contents indistinguishable from the other charred remains in the room. I thought back to the pile of Christmas presents waiting under my own tree, and I was struck by the contrast.

I interviewed the mother. Her English was broken. The oldest boy translated questions and answers as needed. Eventually, we all finished our assigned tasks and followed the family to the hotel that would be their home for the next few days.

When everything was done, and the family was checked in, we turned to leave. The mother called to me. As I turned around I saw her whisper something into her oldest son's ear. He whispered something back. She walked up to me, hugged my neck, and said in almost perfect English 'Thank you. You're my Christmas angel.' Tears streamed from my eyes as I returned the hug.

I cried again that night when I relayed the story to my own family. My eyes are filling up now as I write this. They always do when I tell this story.

Every time my Red Cross cell phone rings in the middle of the night I wake up hoping it's a wrong number. It never is. And as I pull myself from bed I usually ask myself 'why do I do this?' But then I hear that voice saying 'You're my Christmas angel,' and I remember.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. And I hope you are thankful that the Disaster Action Team didn't show up at your home to help you through a personal tragedy.

You know, angels don't just show up around the holidays. Disaster Action Team members are waiting to put on their wings every day of the year. If you might be interested in learning how to fly with us, contact your local chapter. We could use a few more angels, and I'd be happy to tell you all about it. There’s no obligation to join a team, and the pay is lousy. But the rewards are priceless.