Monday, June 18, 2012

A Special Delivery

Misspellings, like elevator farts, are unacceptable, and perpetrators must be held accountable. No excuses. No exceptions.

Or so I thought.

The errors pictured at right are obvious:

  • We're losing hope
  • The fourth word doesn't feel quite right
  • Beter would be better with another letter

And yet, none of that matters. Here's why:

Just over a week ago, I returned from my Sunday-morning softball doubleheader around noon. I wasn't home more than a half hour when my mother, looking ashen, asked me to dial 911. When you're experiencing heart attack-like symptoms — and you already have mitral valve prolapse — you don't mess around. So the call was made and in less time than it takes to say electrocardiogram an ambulance, a fire truck and police cars crowded our quiet suburban street.

My mom was taken to the ER in the ambulance; I wasn't far behind, in my beat-up Accord. I won't delve too deeply into the details. Suffice it to say, a long day was spent in Room 25 at Bridgeport Hospital. EKGs were administered. Blood tests were given. Stress tests were scheduled. Nerves were frayed. Turns out, she did not have a heart attack. (Insert emphatic phew!!! here.) She had a— well, I'm not sure. Neither are the physicians. According to the discharge papers, my mom suffered "CHEST PAIN, Uncertain Cause."

Fast-forward a few days...

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

Lily, a 6-year-old sweetheart who lives next door, blossomed at the front door, doing her best Girl Scout impersonation: delivering cookies. Not in a Thin Mints or Do-si-dos box, mind you. In a paper bag hand-decorated with hearts and, fittingly, flowers. Its contents? A half dozen baked treats. Sweets from a sweetie.

After presenting the get-well bag to my mom, flora met fauna: Lily spent a few minutes petting our mackerel tabby, Keaton, before returning home. Just like that, my mom's spirits were lifted. Contrary to popular belief, laughter is not the best medicine. Nor is metroprolol. A special delivery from a special kindergartener is just what the doctor ordered.

Lily was thoughtful.

Lily was selfless.

Lily was kind.

Lily was sweet.

That's what matters.

At heart.

Are those cookies I smell? A curious Keaton greets our special guest.


  1. Glad everything turned out ok.

    Now go teach Lily how to spell, she can't get away with that "I'm just a kid" excuse forever! :) Lol


    1. Thanks for the well wishes, Chris. Nothing I can do about the Lilly situation. Apparently, upon her birth she signed a contract that allows her to use the “I’m just a kid” excuse until the age of 9, but the contract mistakenly included an extra 9. She doesn’t need to become a responsible adult until she reaches 100.