The authors, Pat Heller and Peggy Vogelsinger, have been friends for over thirty years.

Pat currently resides in the California Bay Area and Peggy lives in Illinois. Despite living in different states throughout the years, their friendship continues to grow because their lives continue to grow through the many adventures they share.

             by:Julia Prodis Sulek   photos by: Patrick Tehan/Mercury News
             06/01/2010

      Pat Heller was nervous at first. She didn't really know the 6-year-old girl lying in bed with a foam box encasing her lower arm. And she wasn't sure what to say or how she would get through the visit without breaking into tears. So before she left her Los Gatos home, she grabbed a sparkling crystal whistle she kept on a hook and slipped it around her neck.
     As she entered the little girl's bedroom, filled with stuffed animals and get well cards, the words became clear:
      "I met your hand before I met you," she said.
      Then she slipped off the whistle and gave it to the girl. "If you ever need anything," she said, "just whistle."
      That September day in 2008 was the beginning of a deep friendship between Heller, now 67, and Erica Rix, now 8. It's a friendship forged by fate on a Los Gatos street, where Erica lost her hand in a horrific accident and Heller found it. It was fostered by play dates at the park, rides to Lucile Packard Children's Hospital and walks with Heller's poodle, Thor. Erica calls Heller her "best friend." And Erica's mother, Allison Rix, who is still struggling with the accident, considers Heller their "angel."

"I trusted her from the moment I met her," Rix, 33, said. "And I knew that I needed her from the moment I met her."
      Heller was driving down Daves Avenue that late summer afternoon when she saw the commotion. A woman was screaming and blood gushed from the forearm of a little blond-haired girl. Heller hated blood. That's why she spent her career as a therapist, not a nurse. "Go find it!" the mother yelled.
      "Go find it!"
      As she walked down the street, Heller spotted what looked like a doll's hand. Looped around it was a blue-and-white jump rope. A closer look and reality set in: the little fingernails were painted with pink polish.
      Heller wanted to run away, but thought, "No, I will stay here and protect this hand."
      Neighbor Tom Sheridan directed traffic. Jim Bailey made a tourniquet with his belt. Passer-by Gail Andrews called for help. And Heller, who couldn't bear to pick up the limp hand and didn't know if she should, stood guard over it until emergency crews arrived.
      "I wanted to watch the jump rope fly," Erica would say later. With one end wrapped around her left hand and the other dangling out the window, the rope her mother didn't know she had got caught under the tire of the family's black Suburban. In a flash, all but Erica's thumb was gone.
      Reattachment surgery at Packard took 10 hours, followed by nearly daily trips to Palo Alto over the past 19 months for surgeries and therapies. Whenever Erica needed help, she'd blow the whistle.
      Heller has a collection of whistles, some hand-painted and beaded, some with hearts and jewels, all of them gifts from her old friend back east, Peggy Vogelsinger. "Whenever you need me," Vogelsinger said, "just whistle."
      As Erica healed, her mother spiraled. She couldn't hear a child's cry or see a jump rope without flashing back. She blacked out once, cracking open her head and needing 17 stitches. She couldn't drive for four months. For a woman who seemed to have led a charmed life until then — she had married the boy next door, lived in the ranch house she grew up in and was starting her own clothing line — life became unrecognizable.
      Her 5-year-old son, Matthew, often asks her, "Mommy, why do you always cry?"
     While others questioned why Rix hadn't bounced back, Heller understood. "When I was feeling out of control or feeling guilty, she reassured me that it wasn't my fault," Rix said. "She has just been this calming figure in my life."
      Heller has always been one to reach out to others in need. Every week for a year, she's been visiting an Alzheimer's patient she met as a hospice volunteer. And Erica, with her charming smile and giggle, drew her in. "We started a relationship. How can I drop that?" she asked. "Erica brought a lot of blessings into my life."
      Heller — a sprite of a woman who streaked her hair purple last week — takes Erica to paint pottery and make gingerbread houses; she took her to soccer practice where Erica cried until the coach let her play goalie. They drive together to Packard for appointments, and along the way, they sing "Over the Rainbow."
      Erica can't tie a shoelace, but she writes with her right hand and can play "Ode to Joy" on the piano. In the early months, Heller shared one whistle at a time with Erica, but hasn't given her one lately.
      "I used one a long time ago when I couldn't get out of bed," Erica said. But now "I don't need it."
      Her mother often wonders why she still struggles even though Erica is doing so well. "If I had a whistle," Rix said, "I would be blowing it all the time."
      Still, Rix is making progress. She has returned to designing dresses and she often shares her family story with patrons of the Packard Children's Fund. Heller's experience with the Rix family has been so rewarding, she co-authored a book about the healing power of friendship.

It's called "The Whistle."