This narrative is written from the perspective of my mother, Roberta Crawford, imagining how she might have experienced the dramatic and emotional events surrounding Christmas. While the details come from family memories, phtographs and newspaper accounts, the voice reflects how these moments may have felt to her as a young wife and mother suddenly facing premature labor, loss, separation, and the hope that followed. It is a way to honor her experience—both the pain she endured and the strength she carried through those difficult weeks.
A Time in My Life: Christmas in Dodge City — From Roberta’s Perspective
I still remember that December trip as if it sits in a separate pocket of time—bright with Christmas anticipation one moment and shadowed by heartbreak the next. Eugene and I had packed up our little Marcia, barely a year and a half old, and headed west to Dodge City to spend Christmas with his parents, Leon and Winnie Crawford, his brother L.R., and his grandmother, Josie. I was pregnant, of course, but with my due date still months away in March, everyone agreed the trip would be fine. It felt good to be going “home” for the holiday.
But on the evening of the 23rd everything changed. I went into labor—far, far too early. Before I could fully process what was happening, Eugene scooped me up and carried me to the car. I remember the cold air, the panic in his voice, and the blur of streetlights as he rushed me to Trinity Hospital. Within hours, our twin boys, David and Duane, were born—so tiny, so fragile. I barely had time to realize I was the mother of twins before the doctors warned us of the uphill battle ahead.
The next day, Christmas Eve, Duane slipped away before I was even able to hold him. I was still confined to my hospital bed, recovering, aching in body and in heart. I grieved from a distance, trying to understand how one child could be taken so quickly while his brother fought on. I wanted desperately to see Duane, to memorize him, to whisper a mother’s blessing—but I never got the chance. That loss has stayed with me in a quiet, tender place ever since.
Christmas morning came, though it felt far from festive. Eugene, his mother Winnie, and Grandma Josie tried to give Marcia a cheerful morning, though I’m sure their hearts were as heavy as mine. While they balanced celebration with sorrow, the family had to make decisions I could not help with: arrangements to bury little Duane on the 26th in the Crawford family plot. I remained in the hospital, knowing that his tiny life would be honored and laid to rest without me there. It is one of the hardest things I have ever had to accept.
As the days passed, Eugene faced another impossible conflict—his job in Emporia needed him back before I was strong enough to travel. So he returned to work, and when I was finally discharged, Marcia and I boarded a train alone, leaving our surviving twin, David, behind in the hospital in Dodge City. I had to trust others to care for him when every instinct told me never to leave his side.
For the next six weeks, Winnie became our bridge—our hope. Every single day she went to the hospital to check on David, to hold him, to speak love and strength into his tiny world. She became his advocate, his voice, his steady visitor while I waited anxiously miles away, clinging to every update.
Then came Valentine’s Day. Winnie boarded a train with little David in her arms—still so small, but strong enough to finally come home. When she arrived in Emporia and placed him in my arms, it felt like the world exhaled. Our family was still healing, still incomplete, but we were together. And in that moment, love and loss, heartbreak and hope, all wove themselves into the story of who we were—and who we would become.
Looking back, that Christmas became a defining chapter in our family story—one shaped by heartbreak, resilience, and love that stretched across miles and generations. Writing this narrative from Roberta’s perspective is a small way to honor what she endured and to acknowledge the quiet courage behind those experiences. The loss of Duane, the fight for David’s survival, the separation from Eugene, and the steadfast support of Winnie all wove together into a moment that shaped who we became as a family. By preserving and sharing this chapter, we not only remember the pain and the miracles of those weeks, but we also celebrate the enduring strength of the women and men who came before us.