A Block of Wood

There is this block of wood in my office. It is sanded and carved and polished so that it glistens. It was given to me by Steven who is now dead.

A couple of decades ago, Steven, his wife, his daughter, and his Mother all moved into the Magdalene Project. Christi, the daughter was as cute as they come. Shirley, the mother, quickly became a receptionist and held that position for more than a decade. Steven and his wife soon moved on and found their own home, but Shirley and Christi were constant presence in my life.

Christi would come to see me every day when she returned from school. Giving me a hug, she would quickly tell me a summary of whatever it was that happened.

Shirley would tell me she loved me every day and asked me if I loved her. And I always told her that I did.

Several months after Steven had moved out, he presented me with the block of wood as an expression of gratitude. He was obviously proud of his handiwork. It was an odd gift but then again homelessness is an odd thing.

So yesterday Shirley called me and it was the first time that I have spoken to her in several years. She told me about Steven. He had always been in poor health and it finally cost him his life.

Would I speak at the memorial service. Steven always though so highly of me, she explained.

So I said I would as my eyes glanced at the block of wood. And I wondered how Christi was doing and how old she is now. Shirley had also been in poor health and I imagined that it was even poorer now. I couldn't remember the wife at all.

"Thank you, Honey," Shirely said, in a voice that carried me back two decades.

I hung up and sighed. It had already been a rough day. And it was one of those days that just kept getting rougher. But as I stood and touched the block of wood, I knew that it wasan't as bad as what Christi must be feeling. Or Shirely who had to say goodbye to her son. Or to Steven, who was far too young to die.b