Our Storytelling series on holiday giving from the heart continues. Click here to read more:

Our mother, Annie, taught my sisters and me about compassion so many times in our youth, but none more memorable than one Christmas Eve.

Growing up in the 1960s, Cheswick, as small towns go, proved a safe harbor where everyone knew everyone. In the '60s mothers stayed home to raise their children while fathers went off to work to support their families.

That's why it was a surprise to me that my mother somehow met and befriended a single mother raising her four young sons. Living in a walk-up apartment above the Cheswick Post Office, this woman made a home for her boys.

Being a part of the middle class, our family lived comfortably for the most part. Yet there were times when my father's job as a carpenter left him "laid off" for weeks, and sometimes months, at a time with no paycheck. We never went without, nor did I ever hear my mother complain.

Several days before Christmas my mother took my sisters and me shopping, where we picked out games and toys, as well as some boys' clothing. We wrapped them all in colorful Christmas paper and loaded them into our car.

Driving two blocks to their apartment after church on Christmas Eve, we silently climbed the outside stairs to their small porch. I remember the excitement I felt as we quietly deposited the gifts, as well as several bags of groceries including a large turkey, at their door.

Looking back at the pile of Christmas gifts as we drove away, I couldn't help but think that it looked as though Santa Claus had indeed been there. It was hard for me to understand why some families didn't have presents or a father. I wiped away tears as we made our way home.

My mother never wanted attention or acknowledgment for her good deeds. She never talked about them. It was just part of who she was. It was an act of kindness that she repeated many times throughout my life.

Her selfless acts impacted me more than words ever could. I am so happy to have been a part of her giving. What we learned in church all those years, my mother implemented into her daily life. I am in awe of her teachings and try to carry on her heritage.

Mom, your spirit lives on through your works, still.

-- LILLIAN (MARKS) DUNSMORE, Pine

Although my mother was a master giver, she was a reluctant receiver. That's why buying her a holiday or birthday gift always challenged -- and sometimes frustrated -- me.

I usually ended up drawing her a picture when I was a little girl and writing her a poem as I matured in my use of language. However, the first Hanukkah that Ma began working, I vowed to buy her something special to mark this milestone in her life.

My dad took me to Mansmann's Department Store in East Liberty. I remember walking through each department and up and down each aisle, determined to find the perfect present.

And then I saw it: a gold pin with two intersecting pearl hearts.

I hardly breathed as I watched the saleslady gently lay the pin in a box on a bed of cotton and then wrap it with holiday paper.

The second after lighting the first Hanukkah candle in my family's silver menorah, I gave the box to Ma.

She initially looked a bit uncomfortable -- just as she always did when getting a gift -- but after she opened the box, she smiled, brushed a few tears from her eyes, and hugged me.

Ma attached the pin to her Babyland jacket; she wore it every day for her 41 years of work. She gave it to me when she could not longer work, and then I gave it to my daughter after Ma died.

The imitation gold has tarnished a bit, and age has discolored a few of the fake pearls, but those two interconnected hearts still beat with love.

-- RONNA L. EDELSTEIN, Oakland