Guest guest Posted March 12, 2000 Report Share Posted March 12, 2000 I emptied a box of kleenex on this one. A sad way to learn a valuable lesson. a ----- Original Message ----- From: Joan <cdx7159@...> < onelist> Sent: Sunday, March 12, 2000 12:22 PM Subject: [ ] STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES > From: Joan <cdx7159@...> > > STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES > > 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 sand castle 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. > " , " I answered. > " I'm . " > " Mine's ... I'm six. " > " Hi, . " > 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. > " 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, 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 . 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 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, 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 . I missed your little girl today > and > wondered where she was. " > " Oh yes, Mr. , please come in. 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? " > " died last week, Mr. . 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 '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 . 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 > momentary setback or crisis. Today, 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. > > ------------------------------------------------------------------------ > PERFORM CPR ON YOUR APR! > Get a NextCard Visa, in 30 seconds! Get rates as low as > 0.0% Intro or 9.9% Fixed APR and no hidden fees. > Apply NOW! > 1/2121/3/_/478567/_/952881688/ > ------------------------------------------------------------------------ > > URL to change your membership options and read archived messages: > /group/ > RA-support website: http://www.rasupport.webprovider.com/ > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted March 12, 2000 Report Share Posted March 12, 2000 Joan, Thanks for sending this...makes me feel my problems aren't so bad after all... Beverly Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted March 12, 2000 Report Share Posted March 12, 2000 Thanks Joan,and yes I had to reach for the kleenex. This arrivedat a time when the pain in my knee and hip was unbearable and I was feeling angry and the " why me " was uppermost in my head. By the time I finished reading this story, I felt myself smiling. Hugs June Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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