I knew it had been a long time. Not weeks, but months. Late this afternoon, I went to the post office with my daughter to help her ship a package to her boyfriend at college. It crossed my mind that it would be a good idea to check my post office box while I was there. I never get anything at that address other than the renewal notice each May. The last couple of years I considered letting it go, but I'm lousy at giving up on things and calling it quits. I bought it for business purposes and simply can't stop believing that one day I will be really glad that I have it.
When I turned the key, I was surprised to see a key to a bigger box with a package waiting for me. Immediately, I assumed that there had been a mistake. This package must be intended for a different recipient. A second later, my surprise gave way to panic. How long had it been here? When I saw that the package was, in fact, addressed to me from a far-away friend, my panic escalated. When I saw the postmark of October 17th, I was mortified.
This sweet friend had sent me a birthday gift three months ago to the day ... the most beautiful handmade journal with tucked-in treasures. Her caring. My carelessness. Tears.
Of course, I called her immediately with profuse apologies and deepest gratitude. And, of course, being who and how she is, I received nothing but graciousness and understanding in return. We had a lovely and long overdue conversation, which was the bright side of this embarrassing situation. But be assured that I will be checking my box on a regular basis now. My lesson has been learned.
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