[Mb-hair] I Wish You A Sandpiper

[Gerald Gerald]

The Sandpiper  
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!  
  
 
  Never brush aside  anyone as insignificant.  Who
knows what they can teach us? 

 
I wish for you, a sandpiper.