The Sandpiper She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. '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, '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. '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, The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was '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. '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 Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no 'Look, if you don't mind,' I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 'I'd 'Why?' she asked. I turned to her and shouted, 'Because my mother died!' and thought, '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, A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. 'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today 'Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. 'Not at all -- she's a delightful child.' I said, suddenly realizing 'Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. 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. I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY. Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, May God Bless everyone who receives this! There are NO coincidences! Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside
by Robert Peterson
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 pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed
completely out of balance.
Her musical giggle followed me.
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.
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
'Where do you live?' I asked.
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.
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.
rather be alone today.' She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
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.
and wondered where she was.'
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies.'
that I meant what I had just said.
Maybe she didn't tell you.'
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?'
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:
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.
-- 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.
can make us lose focus about what is truly important
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.
take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses .
anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?
I wish for you, a sandpiper.
March 12, 2008
The Sandpiper
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