Thursday morning I was whining to Royce, my co-worker, about my dread about mailing out my Christmas packages after work on Friday.
�I just know it�s going to be super busy..� I told her, while envisioning standing in line for thirteen hundred hours for my turn.
�Why don�t you just go to the Post Office down the street during lunch on Friday instead?� She asked.
I�d never been to this Post Office. Had I known it was there, I might have mailed a lot of stuff from there, instead of waiting until I get home to do so. I�m such a procrastinator.
I loaded 4 big packages, nicely wrapped, taped and addressed into my car Thursday night. They were gifts for Renee, my sister, Kevin, my friend, Silvia, my friend and Melody, my niece.
Friday, at 10:45, I left work and headed out during lunch rush to go to the Post Office. First, I stopped and gassed up my car. I got cigarettes.
When I got back into the car it was 11:00 a.m. I had thirty minutes to get in and get out.
I was on a mission.
�In and out..� I muttered to myself while trying to parallel park. There was an unsavory character lingering on the corner, watching everybody that went into and came out of the Post Office. I stared at him, noting the furtive glances and his hands buried deep in his pockets. The only thing that was visible on his face was his big brown eyes, since he had his hood pulled all the way down around his head.
Now, he could�ve been a regular Joe. He might�ve been waiting for somebody. But my gut was twisting and turning and that was telling me to wait a few minutes till I got out of my car.
�Man, this is burning up time that I don�t have�. I was getting frustrated. It was now 11:10.
Finally, he walked down the street, away from me, and he sat on a stoop of some tire business. Good enough for me.
I hauled myself out of the car and popped my trunk.
Too late I realized I might have to make two trips because the boxes were large and unwieldy. Nope, I was going to make one trip, I was determined.
After some artful rearranging, I finally had it all under control. I held the four boxes with one arm, and closed the trunk with another.
I made my way to the front door, peering between boxes. I was almost there when a lady I recognized from work came out the door.
�There�s a woman in there that�s going to ask you for help..� She informed me.
I didn�t really think much about it because I was trying to open the door (which she didn�t see to do for me) and get inside.
As soon as I was inside, this woman accosted me.
�Ma�m, will you help me?� She asked desperately, her eyes pleading. She was in her late short, in her late 50�s, with curly black hair. Your typical Italian grandmother.
�Oh, I really have to get back to work,� I said, and I put my boxes on the counter. As the Postal Worker started processing my books, I heard someone softly crying. A little voice said,� Will someone please help me?�
I CANNOT turn my back on someone asking for help. I become 7 again, asking for someone to help me. But no one came until it was almost too late.
A few tears well up in my eyes.
My heart twinges. I looked over and the Italian grandmother looked so lost.
�I�ll try to help you when I�m finished.� I told her. She quieted down for a bit but was still sniffling.
Part of me was worried she was some scammer. Part of me worried she might be a loon who�d stab me if I didn�t give her a dollar. But my heart told me she was in distress. I can�t walk away when a person asks me for help. I have to listen to what they have to say first. It might be my downfall someday.
When I was done shipping out my boxes, I wandered over to her.
�Can you tell me where this goes?� She asks the lady behind the counter. The lady ignored her.
Oh, the inhumanity!
Ignoring the very people you are supposed to serve?
�What�s the problem?� I asked, hoping she�d make it snappy so I could jet. I still had to get lunch.
�Well, I have MS and my back is going out. Plus, I don�t what size boxes these need to go into, and they won�t help me.� She showed me two boxes of Christmas decorations. One was small, the other was extremely large.
All the while, she�s still crying.
We found a box that the small decoration would fit into. She also threw in some prescription medication that her sister had left at her house.
�I know me and my sisters said we weren�t going to exchange gifts, but after all we�ve been through lately, I wanted to give them a little Christmas,� She said.
I got that taped up and we got that box ready to go.
Now, it was time for the big box.
She was still crying.
�Ma�m, I know the holidays are stressful. But is there something else bothering you?�
She wiped her reddened eyes.
�Well, yes. My parents died a week ago. They were hit by a drunk driver..� her voice trailed off, and she sobbed. She had a faraway look in her eyes.
�My yes, no wonder you are upset. That is just�awful.� She sniffled some more. I started cutting up paper bags that she had brought to make a brown paper cover for this large Christmas decoration.
�I�m so stupid. I should�ve done this at home..� She muttered.
�Now, we�ll have none of that! We�ll figure this out,� I said.
�You know, I do know what it�s like to lose a parent. I lost my mother to her stalker. Worst thing is that he came after me and my sister..� She gasped. �How old were you?�
�I was seven, she was four.� I taped up the edges to hold them down, and I started cutting up another bag. I would need about 4 bags to wrap this box.
�My name is Anna,� she offered weakly.
�I�m Melissa. Nice to meet you,� I said. �There are some groups that can help you and offer support. Parents of Murdered Children and MADD, also known as Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. These people have been through similar things that you have. You might find comfort there�.
�Really? People just like me?� She asked, her eyes wide.
�Yes.�
�Well, I�ve never heard of them. But thank you for the information..� She held down another section of paper while I taped it.
More tears. A sniffle.
�Did you ever get married, Melissa?�
�Ah..yes, and divorced too.� I sighed.
�What was the problem?�
�He was too young, among other things..� My voice trailed off. I finished taping up her box. I turned it over.
�Don�t worry Melissa. You will me the man who is right for you. Your heart is too good for you to be alone..�
�Thanks,� I smiled. �The From goes here.� I pointed to the upper left hand corner.
�The to goes here..� I showed her the lower right hand corner. She wrote the information on the box.
�If I mail it Parcel Post do you think it will get there by Christmas?� she asked.
�Oh yeah, I think you got until the 20th of December to mail it Parcel Post and still have it get there by Christmas,� I assured her.
�Well, I�m mailing them today�� She had stopped crying. She put her palms together on her chest. �Melissa, today God sent me an Angel. You. Thank you so much for helping me.�
�Oh, wow. I�m glad I could be of some help.� I smiled.
�You will always be in my prayers,� she said. She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek with gusto, like a true Italian grandmother.
�Well, it looks like we�re done here. Just reinforce the edges with tape and you�ll be done. Have a happy holiday!� With a smile and a wave, I was gone. I really had to get back to work.
But I didn�t stop thinking about her. Ms. Terry says that I was able to feel her pain because of what I�ve went through. �Melissa, you wouldn�t have had the compassion for her if you didn�t. People probably thought that she was a crazy old lady.�
�She was engulfed in grief. That much was apparent to me,� I told Ms. Terry.
�That is precisely why God will bless you, Melissa. You have a discerning and kind and giving heart.�
I�ve thought about it. I was able to give Anna help and comfort. But she gave me something more. An appreciation for family and friends who love me. Sometimes, I take life for granted.
I also have an adopted Mom who has tried to be a mom to me. We�ve been through a lot together, me and her. I put her through some really rough times. She may well get some diamond earrings for Christmas.
Remember Anna in your thoughts and prayers. Losing parents is hard. But both at the same time and at Christmas?
I can�t imagine.
9:19 am - December 13, 2004
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