Random Acts of Kindness: Anniversaries of Tragedy

Random Acts of Kindness Blog Fest May 27-31

Anniversaries of personal tragedy are the hardest days for me.  The first year anniversary or the fifteenth year—time does not change the depth of grieving for the death of someone beloved.

 

Bill when he was in high school with his horse, Sonny

December 12, 1999 was the day my youngest brother Bill died, at age 44.  It was 11:30 at night, Sunday night.  His fiancée had phoned from Louisiana that afternoon at 2 PM to tell me that Bill was very ill and would be going into surgery to correct problems from surgery done earlier that week. 

Very ill.  May not make it.  Doctor says….

The rest of the day was spent in pacing around the house, calling the nurses’ station, pacing some more.  Until 11:30 that night.

On December 12, 2009, I sat, watching my granddaughters playing.  The oldest, five year-old Bright Eyes noticed how quiet I was and how sad my face seemed.  She climbed up on my lap and asked in her little sweet voice if I was sick. 

I told her about my brother and how he had “gone to heaven” ten years ago.  Bright Eyes listened solemnly and nodded.  She knew about heaven since their dog Shelby had recently gone there, too.

“Well then, Grandma.  I’ll hold you 'til you feel better.”  Then she settled into my arms, laid her head upon my shoulder, and soaked love into my very being. 

I have never been given such a kind gift like this before, or since.

Source: xymonau

Random Acts of Kindness

Random Acts of Kindness Blogfest May 27-31, 2013

A teacher gives so much, almost everything inside the brain and heart.  That is what I always believed, always did.  I arrived at school an hour and a half before the required time to make certain that the day’s preparation was just right.  I stayed two hours after school to review student work and make adjustments for the next day.  

Every day for years, this was my work ethic.

Then, one day I received an irate letter from a father who ripped me apart.  

He had found typos in an assignment I had copied from a professionally produced  book of black-line masters.  He did not appreciate the topic being pursued and wanted to adjust it to his superior understanding.  He thought his child needed more explanation and monitoring—by discussing each lesson taught and assignment given, after the rest of the class had been dismissed.  

The letter, written in small font, covered a full page.

My entire being sagged in defeat, taking my heart and brain with it.  I left after school, numb and confused.  Was there more I could have done?

Flashing forward-- I tightened up my checking-for-typos, adjusted my explanations of all assignments, and double checking everything.  It didn't change that father, but it changed me.  For better?  I didn't know.  

 MANY years later, I received a card from the parents of another student.  

While going through old videos, they discovered a video of their son’s reading and speech presentations recorded that same school year.  They expressed their thanks and appreciation for giving their son such a wonderful year, for teaching him.

They will never know how much this act of kindness meant to me.  I could tell them “Thanks!” but that would be inadequate.

I still have the letter and read it occasionally.  And I praise God for these parents who gave me more than they could ever know.

Source: ChIandra4U

The Barn out in the back

The timbers felt strong, even though the boards were fading from red to gray.  The tin roof had held up for decades, but even it was starting to doubt its integrity.  

 The weeds around the outside appeared to be holding the barn up, with so many vines and creepers.  The silent dust-mote interior spoke of cows, hay, empty feed sacks, and hidden bottles.  

 How much longer can it stand?  Even it doesn’t know.

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