- You Never
Know
She was six years
old when I first met her on the beach near where I
live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or
four miles, whenever the world begins to close in
on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and
looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.-
- "Hello," she
said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood
to bother with a small child.
-
- "I'm building,"
she said.
-
- "I see that. What is
it?" I asked, not caring.
- "Oh, I don't know, I
just like the feel of sand."
- That sounds good, I
thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper
glided by.
- "That's a joy,"
the child said.
- "It's a what?"
- "It's a joy. My mama
says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The
bird went gliding down the beach.
- "Good-bye joy,"
I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and
turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed
completely out of balance.
- "What's your name?"
She wouldn't give up.
- "Mr.M," I
answered. "I'm Mr.."
- "Mine's Wendy.... I'm
six."
- "Hi, Wendy."
- She giggled. "You're
funny," she said.
- In spite of my gloom
I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed
me. "Come again, Mr.M," she called. "We'll
have another happy day."
- The days and weeks
that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly sober
people, at meetings, and an ailing wife. The sun
was shining one morning as I took my hands out of
the dishwater. "I need a sandpiper," I
said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing
balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the
serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and
was startled when she appeared.
- "Hello, Mr. M,"
she said. "Do you want to play?"
- "What did you have in
mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
- "I don't know,
you say."
- "How about charades?"
I asked sarcastically.
- The tinkling laughter
burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
- "Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of
her face. "Where do you live?" I asked.
- "Over there."
She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter.
- "Where do you go to
school?"
- "I don't go to school.
Mommy says we're on vacation."
- She chattered little
girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on
other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it
had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better,
I smiled at her and agreed.
- Three weeks later, I
rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her
mother on the porch and felt like demanding she
keep her child at home.
- "Look, if you don't
mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up
with me, "I'd rather be alone today." She
seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?"
she asked.
- I turned to her and
shouted, "Because my wife died!" and thought,
"My God, why was I saying this to a little
child?"
- "Oh," she
said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
- "Yes," I
said, "and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go
away!"
- "Did it hurt?"
she inquired.
- "Did what hurt?"
I was exasperated with her, with myself.
- "When she died?"
- "Of course it hurt!"
I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.
I strode off.
- A month or so after that,
when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I
missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk
and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with
honey-colored hair opened the door.
- "Hello," I said.
"I'm Mr.M. I missed your little girl today and
wondered where she was."
- "Oh yes, Mr.M, please
come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I
allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies."
- "Not at all - she's a
delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.
- "Wendy died last week,
Mr. M. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell
you."
- Struck dumb, I groped for
a chair. I had to catch my breath.
- "She loved this
beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She
seemed so much better here and had a lot of what
she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she
declined rapidly.... Her voice faltered, "She
left something for you if only I can find it. Could
you wait a moment while I look?"
- I nodded stupidly,
my mind racing for something, to say to this lovely
young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR.M
printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a
drawing in bright crayon of a yellow beach, a blue
sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully
printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY. Tears welled
up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten
to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my
arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so
sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept
together.
- The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six
words - one for each year of her life- that speak
to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift
from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color
of sand - who taught me the gift of love.
- NOTE: This is a true
story sent out by a friend. It serves as a reminder to
all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and
life and each other. "The price of hating
other human beings is loving oneself less."
Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of
everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what
is truly important or what is only a monetary
setback or crisis. This weekend, be sure to give your
loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a
moment ... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and
smell the roses.
- This comes from someone's
heart, and is shared with many and now I share it with
you. May God Bless everyone that receives this!
There are NO coincidences! Everything that happens
to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside anyone as
insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?
Soberly submitted by Mike M, Chula Vista, CA.
