New Year’s Eve

It was New Year’s Eve, 2006. There was more than a foot of snow on the ground but the icy cold weather had given way to a sudden thaw. I didn’t feel like celebrating New Year’s Eve since I was still recovering from two years of active leukemia and chemotherapy. I was happy to be at home, by myself.

Although I don’t often drink, much less alone, I poured myself a small glass of Scotch and sat on the couch, cuddling with my cat, thinking about the past two years, and the struggles to regain my health and well-being.

Suddenly I heard water dripping. Soon water was pouring through the ceiling drenching the back of the couch. Startled, I moved the couch and watched, momentarily stunned by the amount of water gushing on to the wood floor. I stood there. Terrified. Wondering what would happen if I couldn’t stop the water. 

I ran down to the utility room and grabbed a bunch of large plastic bags and towels and ran back up to the living room, spreading out the towels on the plastic. Not knowing what else to do, I tried calling the man who’d done a lot of work on my house. Much to my surprise, he answered the phone. I told him what was happening.

“I can come and help but I need to bring my wife and son,” he said. Bring anyone you want. I assured him this was fine. He agreed to come as soon as he could. Meanwhile, I put the wet towels in the dryer and put down dry ones.

I was so relieved to see him I hugged his wife, whom I’d never met, ushered them in, and explained the problem. His wife helped me sop up the water and replace the wet towels with dry ones. I gave their son my son’s copy of Charlotte’s Web to read. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out what was causing the cascade. “It’s the snow, melting on the roof, blocking the canale. I have to go up on the roof and shovel the snow away.” 

My first response was, “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Both his wife and I worried about his safety. My house is two stories. He’d have to climb a ladder from the deck to get to the roof. It was dark and there was a lot of snow on the deck and the roof. He brushed aside our worries but all I could think about was the ladder slipping. I asked his wife to monitor the water while I helped him get the ladder and shovel from the garage. She nodded, as anxious as I was. 

We carried the ladder and shovel up the outside steps to the deck, which had a thin layer of ice covering the snow. He kept telling me to go inside. I refused. I held the ladder as he climbed up to the roof. He yelled for me to go inside. I refused.

He shoveled the snow away from the canale and yelled at me to check if the water had stopped. I told him I’d do this if he waited for me. I ran inside. The water slowed, dripped, then stopped. I ran back outside and yelled, “It’s stopped.”

I held the ladder firmly as he carefully climbed down. I was shivering but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, fear he might have fallen, or anxiety about the water damage. Maybe all three.

We put the ladder and shovel back in the garage. I made hot chocolate and served it with cookies. He refused to let me pay him. I needed to show my gratitude and since their son was so absorbed in Charlotte’s Web I offered to give it to him. He held it to his chest, smiling as he and his parents prepared to leave.

How have you been helped when you were afraid?

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August 2025 stories