THE BELL CURVE:

Writing a column you know is going to appear in this newspaper on Thanksgiving Day poses a special set of problems.

Ignoring the holiday and taking off on some unrelated topic seems cavalier to me. And offering a laundry list of things for which I am thankful — and it is long and satisfying — has an air of confining blessings to an institutionalized day that should be offered year-round.

I was in this quandary two nights before Thanksgiving when I was enjoying a splendid dinner at the home of my daughter, Patt, who was going to be out of town on the holiday and wanted to share it early with family and friends. And quite suddenly, I found my answer sitting across the dining table from me. Thanksgiving embodied.

If you read this column regularly, you know about Uma — but you won’t mind if I introduce her to those who don’t.

She is a native Sri Lankan who became a friend of my stepson, Erik, during the four years they shared at Occidental College. When she got deeply involved with a Los Angeles musician named John Ballinger, Uma, John and Erik formed a tightly-bound triumvirate of friends.

That’s the way they were when John had a playing gig in New York City almost a year ago, and Uma flew out to meet with him there, not knowing that he planned to give her an engagement ring when she arrived.

She reached their hotel late at night when John was working, and they didn’t connect and fall asleep until the early morning. It was the last peaceful sleep they would enjoy for many months.

Before the morning light, Uma suffered a brain aneurysm. Several hours passed before John could get her to a hospital where she could be treated. While he waited for a diagnosis, he called Erik, who was on his way to New York a few hours later.

They were united in a waiting room when a doctor emerged to tell them Uma had only a 20% chance to survive.

That’s when these two young men decided she was not only going to survive, but she would regain her life fully.

While John set up a constant vigil at her bedside, Erik initiated a blog in which he sent out daily reports of Uma’s condition — read by a handful of Uma’s friends at first, then over the months by hundreds of others who became her friends and joined in the prayers sought in the blogs. And John, in a life-affirming ceremony in her hospital room, put her engagement ring on the proper finger.

Uma passed the first crisis and was gaining strength when she suffered a stroke. Once again, the 20% sentence was laid on her. And once again, John and Erik were convinced that a growing flood of prayers would pull her through — and it did.

But yet more miracles were needed. When it became necessary to move her, the only way she could return home for therapy was in a terribly expensive hospital plane.

So Erik went on the blog, explained their plight and in three days raised more than the $20,000 required to fly her home.

After six months of rehabilitation, first in a Los Angeles center and then at home with John, Uma has made steady progress in regaining the level of life John and Erik set out for her.

Last week, I saw her perform in a play in Los Angeles. Since her speech is not yet ready for delivering lines, it was a nonspeaking role designed for her, but she was altogether wonderful — and proud afterward. And two nights ago, I sat across from her at a dinner table.

And she was in shining health and communicating with all of us at the table with determination and creativity.

So I had my Thanksgiving column in a wave of gratitude for all the lives — starting with John and Erik and reaching out to many hundreds of new friends — that have been inspired and affected by the return to life and health of this delightful young woman.

Writing about it launches me on a positive note into a six-week period I no longer look forward to with the enthusiasm I once did.

In that personal space between grown grandchildren and no new generation to respond to the lights and color and anticipation of Christmas, there is a sense of wanting to back off from the familiar artifacts.

Neither “Silent Night” nor “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” resonate any more.

Nor the sense that anything less than overwhelming cheerfulness through this period is admissible.

So, for the last several years, on Thanksgiving evening I begin to look forward to the football bowls. But this year, I think about Uma and about the Christmas she almost didn’t see. And her affirmation of life and the promise it holds become a jumping off place for the holiday weeks ahead. So happy Thanksgiving.

JOSEPH N. BELL lives in Newport Beach. His column runs Thursdays.