She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I
lived. I drive to the 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"
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, and 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, 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, my
word, why was I saying this to a little child?
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
"Yes," I said, "and so was 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 a 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 speaks 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: I hope you have a few Kleenex tissues left in that box. The above
is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. And 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
momentary 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, and stop and smell the roses.
Back to Homepage