The Sand Piper
Unknown Original Author
Several years ago, a neighbor related to me an experience that happened to her one winter on a beach in Washington State. The incident stuck in my mind and I took note of what she said. Later, at a writers' conference,the conversation came back to me and I felt I had to set it down.
Here is her story :She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I lived. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as sea. "Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. "I'm building," she said."I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring. "Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand." That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said. "It's what?" "It's a joy. My mama says sandpiper come to bring us joy." The bird went gliding down the beach.
"Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She would't give up. "Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Patterson.""Mine's Wendy." It sounded like Windy. "And I'm six."I saidf "Hi, Windy." She giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me. "Come again, Mrs P,"she called. "We'll have another happy day."
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother.The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dish-washer. "I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The never-changing balm of the beach awaited me. The breeze was chilly,but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared. "Hello Mrs P," she said "Do you want to play?" "What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance."I don't know. You say." "How about charades?" I asked sarcastically. The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is." "Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face."Where do you live?" I asked."Over there." She pointed towards a row of summer cottages. Strange,I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we are on vacation." She chattered little-girl talk as we strolled up the beach. but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Windy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to the beach in a state of near panic. I wasn't in any mood even to greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding her to keep her child at home.
"Look if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breathe. "Why?" she asked. I turned on her and shouted,"Because my mother died!" - and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child? "Did it hurt?" "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself. "When she died?" "Of course it hurt!",I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.
I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admittingly to myself that I missed her, I went up to that cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn-looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Ruth Patterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was." "Oh yes, Mrs Patterson, please come in.""Wendy talked of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accpet my apologies." "Not at all- she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. "Where is she?"
"Windy died last week, Mrs Patterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breathe caught. "She loved this beach; so when asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks she declined rapidly?" Her voice faltered. "She left something for you? If only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I find it?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything to say to this lovely young lady. She handed me a smeared envelope, with Mrs P printed in bold, childish letters.
Inside was a drawing in bright crayons hues - a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY
Tears swelled up in my eyes, and in my heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I took Windy's mother in my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words one for each year of her life - that speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand - who taught me the gift of love.
Unknown original author
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