Tuesday, December 14, 2010


I must say today was a most unusual day. Somewhere I read that the day you were born is suppose to be your best day of a week. Being born on a Monday, I have never been afraid to start a new week on the "back to work" day. It might be because the two jobs I've had in the past 15 years were not typical Monday through Friday jobs. I usually worked weekends.

Around noon today, someone rang my door bell and said he was going to shovel my driveway, at no charge. I watched as it quickly got cleared of snow and thanked him. My doctor sure wouldn't want me to do it. My first thought was a "miracle" to start my day. (Now I won't have to call John to do it, so I can get out for my appointment tomorrow.)

My second "miracle" and bigger shock of the day was from the mailman. Our regular guy was on vacation today, so I saw an unfamiliar mailman come up on my porch. I decided to meet him at the door about 2:30 pm. He handed me two packages. I knew I was expecting a couple things ordered for the holidays, so I sat on the couch to check them out.

As I read the return label of the first package, the address was all too familiar and quite surprising. It was the return address of my deceased brother, who died in July of this year. I must admit I sat quite stunned just looking at the box for a few minutes before I could open it. What was it and why was I receiving it? Many thoughts were floating about in my mind as I reached for the scissors to cut the tape.

One of the reasons I was stunned is because I didn't learn of my brother's death until about three months after the event. I had written to him earlier in the year, and received a letter in response, but the letter did not mention his frail health. His friend had written the letter for him at the time. My brother's friend wrote a generic letter to all the family members regarding the death, and we received them about the same time. Subsequently, several phone calls were exchanged by the recipients as to why it took three months to let us know.

My oldest brother left home six months before I was born and headed off to live the rest of his life in California. The only time I have ever visited California, when I saw him, was 1964. My mother and I visited him during our week out there. He took us to a Japanese restaurant for dinner, and I still have the photos of the evening.

The first thing I saw after opening the box was a Christmas card with a letter enclosed. The letter was the explanation as to why I was receiving it. It was an item formerly belonging to my paternal grandmother. The reason I was getting it was because I was the last of my father's living children. All three of my brothers are now deceased. I have 5 nieces/nephews as a result of two brothers.

The item was a glass pitcher signed and dated by my grandmother in the year of my father's birth (1896). She liked arts and crafts. She had given the item to my brother as he left for California to keep as a remembrance of her. I will now put it in my curio cabinet and treasure it always. My mother told me a lot about my grandmother, since she died just after my brother left Ohio. I never knew her personally, but I have many family photos from the olden days to keep her memory alive. One photo has always been in my bedroom on display, along with a photo of my parents, both deceased. I'm sure I will do as requested in the note and keep this treasured item in the family for future generations to cherish.

I believe miracles DO happen, when you are least expecting them.

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