Random Act of Kindness

On a typical Wednesday morning, my breakfast would consist of Special K cereal out of a zip lock bag (no milk) and a bottle of water. On a typical Wednesday morning, I would eat at my desk before 8:00 and try to get some things done before kids start trickling through the doors to my classroom. Those are typical Wednesdays, but today is no typical day.

Today, I am eating my breakfast (Starbucks coffee and oatmeal) in front of my computer at home, while I wait on Rodney to get ready to go to the outpatient surgery center. Today, he is having an abdominal ultrasound and endoscopy to try to solve his digestive disorder that has plagued us for a span of 10+ years now.

I went to school early this morning to make sure things were in order for a sub. Then, I thought I'd swing by Starbucks and grab a quick bite before heading home to start our day of necessary evils.

On the way to Starbucks, my mind was wandering, as it often does while I drive (dangerous?). I was thinking of hospitals, and seeing loved ones in hospital gowns, and how invasive this procedure will be and how nervous I am for him. I pictured myself on a hospital bed while delivering our two babies, and how he must have been nervous for me. I thought of my mom in the hospital after her back surgery years ago, my grandmother in the hospital when she had her double knee replacement, and my cherished granddad in the hospital as we prepared for his departure from this life. I remembered those precious moments of vulnerability, fear, excitement, pain, suffering, and hope.

When my granddad had his stroke, my parents were already living in Denison, but Rodney and I were still in Lubbock. After I received the call that he was on his way to the hospital in the ambulance, I left my post at the third floor nurse's desk and went to wait for him in the ER. I remember seeing him come off of that ambulance (looking back it was really quite special that I was there) and being so frightened at what I was seeing. And, I was alone. Minutes later, I looked around to see my sweet grandmother coming through the doors of the building with her arms held high over her head in that "I'm totally lost and confused without my husband, somebody help me, somebody tell me where to go, where to find him..." look. I went to her (looking back, it was really quite special that I was there), and took her up to the ICU floor. And, we were alone. But, only for a few minutes. Soon enough, people started arriving to comfort and support us. A good family friend, Tommye, heard that I had left work suddenly and came up to check on me in case I was alone. I will never forget how touched I was that she showed up for me.

Zach came too, thank goodness he was in town. After what seemed like an eternity, we were allowed to go see him. Chris and Allie went in with my uncle Mike first. They stayed a few minutes and then Mike said he would take Zach and me in. My grandmother was there too. The things that stand out in my memory are the way his body looked so tiny in that huge bed. How he looked so uncomfortable with all those tubes and wires and machines around him, and how he just looked so, well, vulnerable. Of course, I cried like a baby. But, I asked Zach to say a prayer, and he did. And, it was beautiful. Together, we held hands and we prayed for comfort, for peace, and gave thanks for the wonderful man who had taught us so much. I remember that the nurse cried because she was moved by our maturity and wisdom. We were waiting for our parents to get there, and at that point we weren't sure they would make it in time. But we took that opportunity, and we were so young, to honor and comfort our precious granddad. Three days later, surrounded by family and friends, he took his last breath.

I was remembering those moments, and how proud of Zach I was for the words he was able to come up with, how much I missed my granddad, and how much I love Rodney and how I hate that he has to go through this today... so of course, I started to cry. (Dangerous?)

The line at Starbucks was long and slow. But, it gave me some time to chill. I considered my order. I knew I needed breakfast because I had a long day of waiting ahead of me. So, finally, it was my time to order and I went with the oatmeal and iced coffee.

The lady in the red truck in front of me was taking an extraordinarily long time to get her order, so I wondered what she had gotten that took so long. And, then I pulled forward to pay. The cheery cashier girl said to me, "And the lady in front of you paid for yours too, so you're good to go". The good little girl inside of me said, "Are you sure?" (My order had totaled $7.00 - you know they're pricey!) And, she said "yes, I'm sure, she paid for you and the car behind you". Let's just say... my tears came back. So, in order to pay it forward, I then paid for the next car in line ($4.00, not a bad deal).

How did she know???? How did she know that my heart was hurting? How did she know I was a little scared and apprehensive? How did she know that I was about to spend my entire day waiting on my husband to be poked and prodded and studied? How did she know how I did Starbucks just for me today, just because I needed a little indulgence to help me get through? How did she know?

I have never before experienced such a random act of kindness. I know strangers do kind things for other strangers all the time, and maybe you find this insignificant and silly. But, at the time when I was just a little unnerved and sad, somebody came along and did something totally unsolicited and nice for me. I'll never get the opportunity to say "thank you" to red pickup lady. I just learned a very valuable lesson.

My troubles are few, and my blessings are many. My brother has a song he calls "Somebody's Giant". The message in the song is that he wants to be something big for somebody who needs it. And, the act of kindness for me today, was enormous. It is my sincere hope that the person behind me in line, also felt some sense of gratitude, and that I was able to reciprocate for them my feelings of appreciation and surprise.