Unexpected

 Maybe a month ago (time has lost all meaning during this pandemic), my neighbor, Kathy, told me that a friend of the family, whom they'd known since she was a baby, had been driving downtown with the windows down and some people had tried to set her on fire.  She asked if I would send this young woman a card, as she really liked receiving mail.  Of course I complied.  

When I sat down to write the card, I realized I had no words.  What words could there be to someone so young who had experienced such an atrocity?  So, I told her about Ellie.  I wrote how Ellie and I sometimes would be sitting in her hospital room and we could hear other children crying in pain or fear or confusion.  Feeling helpless, but wanting to "do" something, we would throw the crying child a hug.  I told this woman, that I was throwing her a hug.  That I wanted her to know that she was not alone.  

After sending her cards, I realized this young woman had been an assistant in some of the classes for Lotta and Zibbi's circus arts classes.  Madison is like that, though, small and large, where you suddenly realize you have been talking about the same person, without realizing it.

Then, maybe a month later, I received a postcard back.  It was a postcard that she'd created to send to all the people who had written to her.  It started, "And Still I Rise..." And it went on to talk about her future hopes and dreams, of finishing college and someday owning a rescue farm for "any animal or person who might need a safe haven."  On the back, she'd written, "I remember your daughter well.  We started playing together at recess after I asked her what her face cloth was for (Ellie like to use cloth handkerchiefs, I assume that's what she was asking about).  I then made sure to sit with her at lunch.  She was an awesome friend.  She asked a lot of questions.  I also remember liking her shoes.  I made my mom get me a pair so I could match.  I missed her very much when she passed.  She was a much needed friend while I was looking to fit in as a brown kid.  Sending you much love."

I had no idea that she'd been classmates with Ellie.  After Ellie died, one of Ellie's classmates was so upset he had to leave school.  At the time, I had this really strange feeling like when your child hurts another child and you work to fix the problem.  (I was lucky enough to run into this classmate at a park a year or so later and we were able to chat.  He was super upset that Ellie had died 13 days before her birthday.  I explained to him that Ellie had never cared much about birthdays.) But this young woman telling me Ellie made a difference to her at school, helping her feel more at ease, spreading her joy like she so liked to do, left me with the opposite feeling.  That rare and fleeting moment as a parent when you feel like somehow, you did something right.