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The
Thanksgiving Card
My
assistant called in sick one morning the week of Thanksgiving. I
have grown dependent on her, especially to run errands while I
try to regain my stamina following surgery. She didn’t want to
risk exposing me to her symptoms. This meant that I needed to
get in the car and run errands myself today. I pulled on warm
clothes, brushed my hair, and dabbed on some lipstick, in an
attempt to look as well as possible in public.. My first errand
for the day was to stop at the post office.
I retrieved the mail, and as I backed the car out of the
disabled parking space, a woman pulled her car into the space
next to mine. As I looked over my shoulder for oncoming traffic,
I noticed her waving at me, gesturing for me to stop.
Perhaps she was going to notify me that one of my brake lights
was malfunctioning, or some other mechanical mishap that I was
about to discover. As I shifted the gear back into “park” and
rolled down the window, the lady approached my car, carrying
what appeared to be a greeting card and envelope in her hand.
“Excuse me” she said, with an accent, as she smiled at me. “I
have a favor to ask of you. I just bought this card for my son,
who is away in the Air Force, and....”
At that point, I reached for my purse and began rummaging for my
wallet, anticipating that she was going to ask me for change to
buy postage. I could see, by her modest clothing and older car,
that she likely did not have extra money to spare.
She continued on....”my English is not that good and I was
wondering if you could write something in this card for me.”
Oh. She did not need change for the postage. She needed help
writing the card. Although she did have an accent, her grammar
seemed perfectly fine to me, but, if she needed help writing a
message, I could certainly do that for her.
“Let’s go into the post office” I suggested. “I can write your
message easier on one of the counters where there is space.” I
grabbed a pen from the glove box and locked the car.
Once inside the building, and while receiving the card from the
lady, I noticed that it was rather a generic Thanksgiving card,
not one specifically for a son, and certainly not a sentimental
card. It was more likely suited for a business associate, or
colleague. I deduced that she had selected the card based on the
autumn picture on the cover.
We began by my addressing the envelope. She pulled out her
driver’s license to show me her name and address for the
“return” section, and handed me a folded piece of paper with her
son’s address, at a military base. I began to realize that it
was likely that English grammar wasn’t the “issue”. I suspected
that this little lady could not read and write at all. I kept
this observation to myself, as she began to tell me about her
son. She had specific ideas about what she wanted me to write.
“Dear Son, we miss you so much and pray for you every day. We
can’t wait until you come home again. We love you and want to
have a happy Thanksgiving...” as she dictated, she explained to
me that the “we” referred to her and her other son, who lives
with her; he is a young adult, with Down’s Syndrome.
I was beginning to run out of writing space in the card, as we
approached the end of her dictation.
She asked my opinion, “Do you think I should sign it ‘Love,
Mom’, or ‘Love, Esther’?”
“What does your son call you, ‘Mom’, or ‘Esther’?” I replied
“Mom” she firmly pronounced. Then she added, “You write, ‘love
from’ but I will write ‘Mom.’”
And, at that, she opened her left hand to reveal her “crib
notes”. She had already practiced writing, both “Esther” and
“Mom” and had those names, written in ink in her palm.
As instructed, I wrote, “love from” and Esther proudly wrote
“Mom” taking the time to carefully scribe M O M in capital
letters.
We were finished writing the card. I wished Esther a “Happy
Thanksgiving” and to me she shared the same greeting, as we
embraced with a hug.
Fifteen minutes ago we had been strangers.
Esther revealed, “When I came to the post office today, I asked
God to send someone to help me, and I knew He would!”
Esther proceeded to the mail drop slot, and I walked to my car
and continued on my errands.
If my assistant had not called in sick today, I would not have
driven to the post office, and would not have been leaving that
parking space at the same time that Esther was driving in.
Happy Thanksgiving to David in the Air Force, to his mom Esther
and her to her other son.
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies
Copyright 2006 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing
As with all the chapters in the Red Tailed Hawk Series, this is
a true story. |
