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.
"Robert," I answered.
"I'm Robert Peterson."
"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. P,"
she called.
"We'll have another happy day."
The days and weeks
that followed belong to others:
a group of
unruly Boy Scouts,
PTA meetings,
an ailing mother.
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. P," she said.
"Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?"
I asked, with a twinge of
annoyance.
"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 seems unusually
pale and out of breath.
"Why?" she asked.
I turned to her and shouted,
"Because my mother died!"
and thought, 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 Robert Peterson.
I missed your little
girl today and wondered
where she was."
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson,
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 it.
"Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week,
Mr. Peterson.
She had leukemia.
Maybe she
didn't tell you."
Struck dumb,
I groped for a chair.
My breath caught.
"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,
anything, to say to
this lovely young woman.
She handed me
a smeared envelope,
with MR. P
printed in bold,
childish letters.
Inside was a
Drawing in
bright crayon hues,
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 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, 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: I hope you have a few Kleenex tissues left in that box.
The above is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson.
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 week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug,
and by all means, take a moment ...even if it is only ten seconds,
and stop and smell the roses.
Sent to: BabyRoseBuds
From: Joe
Thank You Love
