Care Package

This story deals with the loss of a child during the Covid 19 epidemic.

Right smack in the middle of the summer, I walked down the main drag in town, up the cement stairs, and between the Doric columns of the grand entrance to the Post Office. It made me feel fancy for some reason even though I looked disheveled, my mousy brown hair pulled back in a cheap claw clip from the Dollar store. I dragged an overstuffed garbage bag through the narrow doorway, hoping that there would be a free kiosk to claim to dump and organize my wares. I always felt like Santa Claus (Christmas in July!) carrying a big sack of goodies down Castle Steet to prepare the summer care package to send to Sarah at sleepaway camp. 

I could never have afforded that camp for rich kids up on Lake Ontario. Seven thousand bucks in exchange for eight weeks of fun. I mean she had so many friends up there, and they all returned each year. So they were like a family. How could I say no when Rob offered to pay for it to make up for being an absent father. Once Sarah was old enough to go to nursery school, he packed up and headed back to Rochester. Never looked back. And here I was, same old Renee, long time cashier at Walmart. I’m what they call a townee. 

Not long after Rob left, Gran died and left me the old six bedroom with the two sun porches that were slowly sinking into the earth. All these years I could never figure out what to do with two sun porches and all that space. Still looks the same, never been fixed up, although Sarah helped me strip a few rooms and paint once she was old enough. 

When she was away for the summer,  it was lonely, but I always sent her a big box of her favorite things, hoping it would make her happy and let her know I was doing fine. After I dumped the bag of goodies out on the counter, I stared at everything for a moment, pleased with myself for getting everything with my employee discount so I wouldn’t break the bank. 

“Here you go Renee,” said Barb, my favorite mail clerk. “I saved this box for you after we used all those reams of copy paper. I know how you like to have a nice, big roomy box for Sarah’s care package.”

“Thanks. I am going to make it really organized this year. I don’t want anything to break or get crushed!”

Barb placed the box on the floor, and turned and gave me a smiley-nod before shuffling back behind the glass enclosed service desk. 

I got to work. The first layer was several packs of underwear. I always told Sarah it’s ok to just throw those undies away. You don’t want everyone in your business when you wash and hang them. This turned out to be the perfect cushion for all the food I layered on next. Twizzlers. Kraft marshmallows, Jolly Ranchers, Pringles. Things that wouldn’t really melt or arrive smashed or broken. Then the Ramen Noodle cups for when the camp cafeteria food was just inedible. Sarah always complained about the powdered eggs. The top layer was filled with paper and envelopes so she could write something to me,  even if her letters were probably written more out of obligation than anything else.  Dear Mom, Camp is great! I am swimming a lot. Lily and Alex say hi! Love, Sarah. Finally just the fun stuff. Some packs of stickers, temporary tattoos, and powdered Kool Aid. Once, Sarah told me that she never actually made the Kool Aid with water and just drank the powder. I can picture that goofy grin with red powder on her lips looking like tacky Halloween lipstick!  Always silly, that kid. Not sure where she got that happy, care-free way about her. Lord knows, she didn’t get it from me. 

Once the garbage bag was nearly empty, I shook it until the packing tape fell onto the counter. It quickly slid onto the floor. As I bent down to pick it up, I heard someone say, ”No, allow me.”

I looked up and saw Barb standing across from me. I had forgotten we were the only two people in the building. She said,”Why don’t you let me help you? There is no one here, and we could even have a chat while we pack the box.”

“You know this is my ritual, Barb,” I said. I could feel my voice starting to crack. 

“Renee,” Barb started. “I know you need to do this. And I am happy to send the box to the camp as a gesture or even donate all these goodies to the Boys and Girls Club. But you don’t need to go through this alone. I am happy to pack the box with you. We can even talk about her. Look through some pictures. We can even sip some Kool Aid.”

My eyes smiled at Barb. She was a real friend. She knew what I was going through after losing her little girl so long ago too. 

“You’re right,” I said. “It would help to have someone alongside me. Sometimes I feel stupid doing this, since she’s been gone for three years now.” The tears came. I sat down on the tile floor of the Post Office and sniffled a bit. Barb walked clear across the lobby and flipped the open sign over and locked the door. She plopped down on the floor across from me, crossed her legs the best she could, even with those bum knees. 

She took my hands in hers. Looked right into my eyes. “It’s ok, Renee. You can talk about this.”

I looked down at the address label in my hand. The words started to smear as my tears plopped down 

onto the sticker:

Sarah Anderson

Camp Kenwood

  100 White Springs Road

Barker, NY 14102 

Sarah’s camp, her favorite place on earth, never reopened after it closed down for Covid. How a perfectly healthy, athletic, energetic kid like Sarah could end up in the hospital only a few days after complaining that she felt tired and dizzy just never made sense. Thought she just had a bad cold. That was Friday. On Monday she was on oxygen in the ICU. I don’t think she fully understood what was happening. She was a kid. I think she (and I) thought she would get better. And then she just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. Rob was there. He blamed me for the whole thing. Said I should have called the doctor sooner, and the doctor waited too long to send her to the ER. It was April 2020. No one knew how bad everything would turn out. Not even the people with medical degrees. 

Less than one day after the funeral, Rob was out of my life for good. That I can live with, but, for a while, I struggled without that child support check I had been accustomed to each month. But I made it work. Picked up some extra hours at Walmart. It was good for me to be busy anyway.

After a long silence, Barb let go of my hands. She said,”What should we do with the package this year?

“I don’t know. I kind of want to devour all these snacks right here on the floor. Kinda eat my feelings, ya know?”

Barb chuckled. She said,”That locket that you’re wearing,” pointing to the gold heart dangling from the flimsy chain. “Remind me. Is there a picture of Sarah in there?”

One flick of my thumb popped the front of the gold heart open. Inside. That gap-toothed silly grin. Chocolate from her melted ice cream cone all over her face. That kid loved sugar more than life. 

“What…. a…. girl…,” Barb said, emphasizing each word slowly.

“One of a kind I said,” and I bit into a Twizzler as Barb peeled open the can of Pringles. We sat on that floor until the afternoon sun dropped below the windows, and it was time to lock the doors and head home.