Hardly anything cuter than a sandpiper...or a piping plover chick.
Posted on 06/04/2019 8:55:09 AM PDT by sodpoodle
by Robert Peterson
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 really 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 next few days consisted of 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.
"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 seemed 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 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 what I had just said.
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. 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. 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 so sorry, I'm so sorry," I uttered 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 Robert Peterson. It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever. 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..
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, to stop and smell the roses.
This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many and now I share it with you..
; May God Bless everyone who 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?
I wish for you, a sandpiper.
Hardly anything cuter than a sandpiper...or a piping plover chick.
Thx - very cute. One of these days I will learn how to post photos, pictures;)
What happened to the screen?
Thanks for sharing this. Everything turned blurry...
The gift of happiness belongs to those who unwrap it. Thank you for this post.
The real ‘shadow of her smile’.
In 35 years of practice the most mature patient I ever had was a 6 year old boy who died of brain cancer a few days later. Somehow I don’t doubt this story a bit.
What's the matter? Did yours get all blurry like mine did?
What a beautiful story.
Upon reading it the second time i began to choke up, could not get through the whole story!
Oh, if only it were true . . .
Beats me. Mine’s blurry too.
Bttt.
5.56mm
My oh-so-liberal ex wife would define this as Truth. (You could hear it capitalized as she said it.)
A story that illustrated an underlying meaning, even if the actual facts in the story itself didn't reflect what really happened was Truth. For example, the totally fake NYT story about a day in the life of a NYC junkie was Truth, even though the author never left her desk, let alone follow an actual junkie on her daily rounds.
This story is as true as it needs to be to remind us of the evanescence of life, and to appreciate every breath we take, and the people who touch our lives, no matter how briefly.
I’m reminded of the movie. A young boy wanted his single mother(Elizabeth Taylor) to show up at his recital amongst all the married couples. When he pointed her out to his buddy his buddy’s eyes got BIG.
I’m sorry my post was inappropriate.
Was it? I’m curious as to why his buddy’s eyes got big (don’t remember the movie) answer by FReepmail, if you are more comfortable with that.
Thanks for posting this.
I’m sorry to say that what kept going through my mind is today’s response and reaction to this story.
How shocking and even dangerous that a grown man should dare speak to a six year old child. It’s almost assumed as normal that Robert would be considered a pedophile today. Just for being near a child.
What a shame. What a complete and utter shame that evil has corrupted our society to such a degree.
Thanks for posting this. We lost our (adult) daughter and this hit home.
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