I found myself running about last weekend, trying to get through my obligatory chores as quickly as possible. I had planned a visit with a dear friend of mine, and didn’t want some overlooked task to manifest itself at some point like a preadolescent kid in the back of my mind with a singular, droning question – did you forget that?
I have written in this forum about the notion of grief, and how I have been trying to deal with the incalculable loss of my beloved CeCe. There is no way to share the emotional extent from such an event, and that is to be expected. Very few people can step into your shoes and feel what you feel. So when we share our thoughts and people express their condolences, we thank them for their kindness and move forward. The exchange is usually to assuage their feelings of sadness tinged with awkwardness. For the sufferer, it’s adding another tear in an ocean’s worth of memories. It’s just one of the ways we adults get through to one another under these circumstances.
So a few weeks back, I was sharing an email thread with someone (who I shall call Kathy) from whom I would eventually receive some important documents. During the exchange, Kathy provided details about the papers to be received, and the issue of CeCe’s passing came up. Kathy expressed her sincerest condolences, and I thanked her for kind thoughts. In the course of the email thread, Kathy noted that the envelope would be on its way soon, and that her young daughter was jazzing it up for me. I wrote that I had been a Kindergarten teacher eons ago and would be looking forward to the artwork. But by the end of the day, I had pretty much forgotten that small detail.
A few days later, the envelope arrived while I was out running errands. It was the 5th month anniversary of CeCe’s passing, and I was having a difficult day overall. When I got home, I saw that the postal carrier had delivered the expected envelope to my front door. However, this time he made the effort to prop up the envelope so I could see the colorful piece of artwork shown above.
Suddenly, I remembered what Kathy had written about her daughter jazzing up the envelope – but I never expected this. I broke down and cried. I cried because I was exhausted; because the reminders of that day had left me bereft. But it was also because before me was a beautiful representation of love and hope. A simple yet powerful act of kindness from a five-year-old whose innate innocence combined with her mother’s lesson on how small acts of kindness can have a big impact on the lives of others had been translated into the one way she could create happiness: with rainbows, hearts, flowers, and self-portraits of her smiling and showing me her heart.
We are surrounded by wisdom, love, and kindness that comes to us from the most unexpected places. In this memorable instance, from a child whose understanding of loss told her what the best way would be to mend a broken heart. Innocence understands love and heartbreak. Perhaps not in the way that we, as adults, need for it to be in order to be acceptable. But the heart doesn’t need affectations brought on by the complexities of an adult mind. It needs the empathy of innocence; the love and support that easily relinquishes proper social behavior in favor of a hug, a smile, a smattering of flowers, or an envelope filled with rainbows and colored hearts.
I have since placed this envelope in a shadow box. It is proudly displayed in my office in lieu of some self-aggrandizing diploma or certification. Because achievements are nothing more than expectations as a result of excellence. But unforeseen symbols of kindness are the crowning achievements of a loving heart. Thank you ever so much, dearest Charlee.
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