My ten-year-old daughter insisted on checking our mailbox by herself, so I did it today and was devastated by what I found.
I assumed it was a phase my ten-year-old daughter was going through when she began to display an uncommon interest in checking the mailbox. I had no idea that those letters would disclose a secret that made me cry and fundamentally altered our life.
I’m Erin, a 40-year-old single mother who is totally committed to Lily. It’s just the two of us since her father died three years ago. I adore Lily; she is a lively, inquisitive youngster who brings laughter and happiness into our home. Together, we’ve created a comfortable life where I work from home as a freelance graphic designer, which enables me to spend more time with her.
Lily abruptly requested if she may check the mailbox one evening after supper. Considering that she had never previously expressed interest in the mail, it was strange. Usually, she would be more excited about her favorite TV show or dessert. However, I gave her the key, supposing it was merely a coincidental curiosity. It seemed to be the highlight of her day as she ran outdoors grinning broadly.
She inquired about checking the mail again the next day, and I saw that her enthusiasm was rising. She soon developed a regular ritual around this, looking forward to going to get the mail every evening. After four days, I was left wondering what had caused this unexpected fervor.
I started to see little behavioral shifts in her. Normally gregarious and upbeat, Lily had become a little more reserved. She stayed in her room more often, and her normally loud laughter seemed to be muted, as though she was thinking about something. She told me she was well when I inquired, but there was something missing from her voice.
She asked me a strange question one evening as I was putting her to bed: could individuals interact through letters even if they didn’t know each other well? I assured her that they could, that lovely connections could be made through letters. She gave no more explanation, but appeared content with my response.
I saw her sneaking something into her backpack before school the next morning. She swiftly shifted the topic after jokingly mentioning that it was for a school assignment when I asked what it was. I was intrigued, but chose not to ask her more. But I started to worry about her increasing protectiveness of the mailbox. She wouldn’t allow me check the mail and insisted it was a secret.
I wanted to check what was going on as I could no longer control my concern. One morning, after she’d left for school, I opened the mailbox with trepidation, partly expecting to see something unsettling. Rather, I discovered multiple nicely folded letters, all addressed to Mrs. Thompson, our mailwoman.
Tears filled my eyes as I read the first letter. After learning that Mrs. Thompson had lost her daughter, Lily had been writing to her to give consolation and companionship. Her messages were warm and heartfelt, with short vignettes from her day and encouraging remarks. In one letter, there was a bright painting that went along with the topic of butterflies that was learned in school. In another, the subject talked about baking cookies with me and wished she could give them to Mrs. Thompson.
I discovered a letter from Mrs. Thompson among Lily’s correspondence, in which she thanked Lily for her kind words and conveyed how much they meant to her at such a trying time. She said that Lily’s letters had made her life a little brighter and her loss a little more manageable.
I was overcome with emotion and pleasure when I understood how much Mrs. Thompson had benefited from Lily’s tiny gesture of kindness. I smiled and gave Lily the key when she asked to check the mailbox that evening, telling her she had the largest heart of anybody I knew.
I then supported Lily’s communication with Mrs. Thompson going forward. After a while, we asked her over for tea, during which we laughed, told tales, and, of course, enjoyed Lily’s handmade cookies. Throughout the afternoon, the three of us grew closer, and it made me realize just how powerful small deeds of kindness can be.
I witnessed personally how even the smallest actions may form the most exquisite friendships as I watched Lily and Mrs. Thompson bond. In addition to providing Mrs. Thompson with consolation, Lily’s kindness served as a reminder to me of the significant influence we can have on people, frequently in the most unexpected ways.
Lily questioned whether we would remain friends with Mrs. Thompson forever as we sat on the porch that evening. I reassured her that their friendship will endure because of her generosity and love. As I held her tight, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for the lesson Lily had imparted to me: sometimes the most profound relationships can result from the smallest deeds of compassion.
