The healing power of kindness

I hope by now that most readers of the Fernandina Observer will have found the treasure in the Showcase section on Mondays, the “Kindness Matters” columns, put together by my treasured friend, Peggie Weeks. We see through the stories in it that there are many ways, big and small, to show kindness and transform a person or situation. One can stop doomscrolling, read that column every Monday morning and be uplifted.

I am dropping my own two cents into the kindness category today in the hope that you will be motivated to show kindness somehow, somewhere each day and that you will write your own kindness story and send it to Peggie to share with all of us. (Pegweeks@gmail.com)

The morning after my husband died, I got a text from a friend that said, “I am standing on your front porch.” In her hands were two pink boxes containing luscious bakery pastries of various kinds. There was plenty to share with other family members. Nothing says “I care” like a fresh cinnamon roll to go with your coffee. She didn’t stop there. The next day she showed up with a breakfast casserole and a lasagna. When one’s heart and brain are numb from recent events, there is nothing like being able to heat up some homemade food and be satisfied.

There is a funny and informative book, "Being Dead is No Excuse: The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral." In it, one gets a view of the role of hospitality and food in the care of the recently bereaved, as well as traditions across communities and churches. The recipes are great.

I have been getting by on gifted food since those first donations. Soup, casseroles and invitations to dinner are most welcome when you spend your day sorting papers, on hold with insurance companies or trying to decipher various legal documents. Other women in my group of friends who are widowed have echoed in varying degrees their similar experiences of dealing with the loss of a loved one.

A day or two after the pastries were a sweet memory, I got a text from a local florist saying there were flowers on my front porch. I brought them in and opened the card, assuming they were from a family member. To my surprise, they were from a friend in her late 90s who wanted to reach out to me. When I called to thank her and tell her how surprised and pleased I was, she said, “Every girl needs a nice surprise once in a while.” That was several weeks ago and they still look lovely on my dining room table. Since then, a flowering plant and more flowers have joined the party. The colors and shapes of different flowers are a visual delight every time I see them. They serve as a reminder that our lives, however long or brief, are meant to be lived in beauty and celebration.

The cover photo for this column is a small sampling of the beautiful and thoughtful cards I have received. In these times when texting often substitutes for human interaction and real relationships, people are picking out physical cards, writing notes, finding my address, stamping the cards and mailing them. What a joy to go to my mailbox and receive more than junk mail.

I receive my mail in a box at a kiosk in my neighborhood. I gather its contents, walk home, plop down my things, look at the return address, open the envelope (not very neatly) and savor the images and words chosen for me. Just for me. I bring to mind that person’s face and voice, and it is as if I am with them in the room. If you think sending cards and notes is a waste of time and money in this day and age, you are wrong. It is precisely because it takes an effort to show kindness and caring that it means so much. These offerings of kindness are overflowing in a large ceramic bowl in my kitchen, where I can pick them up and be reminded of the sentiment that they contain.

If writing notes and sending cards is not a skill in your wheelhouse, you can learn it and practice it. I remember my mother sitting me down at my student desk after Christmas. She would hand me a small box of notecards and a pencil or pen and instruct me to write thank yous. If I complained that I didn’t know what to say, she prompted me. Most often, she left me alone to figure it out.

If writing is not for you, there is always cooking, ordering flowers or delivery or running an errand. My brother is not a card writer, but he is a lawyer and helps with document translation.

Loss shreds the fabric of one’s life. The healing power of kindness is its ability to weave a new pattern into that fabric.

A closing line of the familiar Psalm 23 comes to mind: “… my cup overflows.”