Early yesterday afternoon, Thursday, a woman came into our Hallmark store to ask if we could help her with an important request.
Her friend, Cindy, is dying.
Cindy wanted to buy some cards for her eight year old daughter, cards to sign, cards in which to write a short note, cards to leave for future special occasions in her daughter’s life; birthdays, graduation, engagement, wedding….
The friend asked if she could bring Cindy to select some special cards before we opened, a quiet time when the mom could concentrate to make her choices, possibly next Monday or Tuesday. We quickly agreed; whatever we could do to help. I suggested coming in at 9am, a half an hour before we opened.
She agreed.
Yesterday afternoon, a few hours later, the friend called. Cindy wasn’t sure she would make it through the weekend. Could they come in today, Friday morning?
Of course, I said.
Jane & I were working together today. We decided to come in early, get things ready before Cindy came (if she felt like coming) along with her precious friend.
Jane fixed hot cider, I counted the money, Jane cleaned the glass doors, I vacuumed a little–Jane wanted things to be just right. Beforehand we made a pact to pay for the cards selected, to use our store certificates we had earned (making it a Hallmark gift); the tiniest token to a mother carrying out a last errand for her child before dying.
We were both afraid she might not come. Maybe she was too sick, maybe she hadn’t survived the night?
But, at 9:10 she arrived. Her friend, & the friend’s husband, drove up to Hallmark’s door. With their help, Cindy slipped into her wheelchair, tethered to her oxygen tank, looking oh so frail. The wind was chilling, but the importance of this trip was not to be deterred.
After hellos, as the friend’s husband departed, we asked Cindy’s friend what cards Cindy needed, as the petite dark-haired mom sat by, quietly. Such a hard job, this trip. Cindy’s wheelchair was pushed to the Daughter birthday section. Slowly she read through the cards, crying silently.
Kleenexes were passed around.
The dear friend was the point person. Jane & I suggested cards, searching for appropriate ones, then handing them first to Cindy’s friend, who would run them by Cindy. After about 20 or 30 minutes, Cindy was exhausted, feeling sick, unable to look further.
Eight cards had been selected.
It was all the time Cindy could give.
Jane checked out the cards, then, we explained that Beaver Creek Hallmark would pay for the cards. I wasn’t sure the words were clear (my voice was untrustworthy), but the two friends realized what we were saying. They were surprised, grateful, for our tiny gift.
The friend’s hubby was called. He had been waiting nearby at Panera while the shopping trip was completed. Patiently, tenderly, both he & Cindy’s friend lifted the dying mom into the car.
As they drove away, Jane and I felt such a weight, such a heaviness! We had witnessed a mother doing the hardest thing a mother can do–figuring out how to say goodbye to her child, and how to leave behind a part of herself, a mother’s legacy.
Cindy had decided Hallmark cards could convey her love at those important times in her child’s future, a precious way to be part of the daughter’s life at those times when she’ll miss her mother beyond words. And the cards left will be of great comfort, and, they will be cherished.
Cindy, how Jane & I were blessed to be part of your final hours. We will pray for your faithful and devout friend–your advocate, and for your precious daughter.
It was a God appointment.
