November 16, 2024

I received a “care package” in the mail this week. I didn’t know how much I needed it.

Care packages are best received when something is not normal in your life. Examples include times when you are away from loved ones, you are going through a difficult time, you are recovering from a physical or emotional injury, half of the nation is preparing for a Constitutional crisis . . . you know, the usual stuff. 

I have been lucky enough to receive a variety of care packages over the years. I remember getting them from my mom during my four-week Ozark Boys Camp where I spent my summers when I was 10, 11, and 12. My dad always sent me letters, and I loved them. But care packages blew the door off those letters (sorry, Dad). Getting a package with candies and homemade cookies to share with my cabin mates was always a great thing. It felt like the warmth and love in my home was right with me in our woodsy cabin. And it made me popular for about 83 seconds, which is how much time it took us to gobble up everything.

Being in college 2000 miles away from home was another opportunity for my mom to send care packages. In my freshman year, she actually sent me a German chocolate cake through the US mail for my birthday. I think it took over a week to get there. That no-preservatives-week-old cake, all beaten up by the US mail process, was perfect. It looked and tasted like the love and care I was missing from home.

Our children received care packages from my mom (their grandmother) over the years, and they always loved them. There’s something about opening a package and finding candy, pictures, toys, cool t-shirts, and whatever else struck my mom’s fancy. It’s not their birthday. It’s not Christmas. It’s just . . . because. If Forest Gump is right, and he always is, and life is indeed like a box of chocolates, then a care package is like an additional little box of chocolates that suddenly appears within that big box of chocolates.

I have always described my mother as the definition of unconditional love. And her infatuation with care packages was just one of a million examples of how she displayed that love for her children and grandchildren.

No care package has come to our home for a long time. Over the past decade, my mother’s health has declined, and she is no longer able to put together and mail a care package. That is the least of our concerns, as her health and her dementia issues continue to worsen. The disappearance of care packages is just one of so many losses we have experienced with her decline.

I hadn’t even thought about care packages for so long.

Then out of the blue, my brother Pat sent me a care package. That’s a first. 

I had left a hoodie on my most recent visit to Arkansas. Just the fact that he returned the hoodie deserves a small parade. But, as the ads for Ginsu knives would always say, “But, wait! There’s more!” He included his favorite coffee pods that he enjoys every day. He included a picture of my mom and me taken back in 2005 that I had not seen before. He included a funny and touching note. He even included a new t-shirt that he loved, and therefore, so do I. 

I was so touched by the fact that he took the time to put it together, package it, and send it in the mail.

And I found myself flooded with memories of care packages full of love that my mom sent for me and for my children over the years. I miss having that random parcel of love and care in my life.

Care packages are acts of kindness, and I think kindness may matter more now than ever. Politics and media are sorely lacking in kindness these days. Bullying is more in vogue than I can ever remember. I try to keep mean people out of my life. But it’s harder than ever.

That’s why my brother’s act of kindness hit me so deeply. My mother’s ability to spread her love is severely diminished, and we need to make up for that loss. And her love was so extensive, that it will take many of us to fill that void.

Care packages come in many forms: A quick note or text of appreciation; an unexpected favor; small gifts of some kind; sharing a plate of cookies or mini pumpkin pies when you’ve “accidentally” made too many. And sometimes, it’s just the gift of time.

So thanks, Pat, for reminding me about something that had been missing in my life, and for leading by example. There is more need than ever for love and kindness in our world. I will try to pay forward the love and care I have received.

Post #121 on www.drmdmatthews.com

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NOTES

I loved my three summers at Ozark Boys Camp. Four weeks of being in a cabin named after a baseball team, where we did nothing but sports and activities all day. Lots of baseball (I came in 2nd in the home run derby – 10 pitches and I hit 1 home run. There were about 8 of us tied for second), water skiing, swimming, broom hockey, basketball, hiking, archery, rifle shooting, arts and crafts, decent food, and the great feeling of going to sleep exhausted every night. And every Sunday, 95% of the boys attended church and vespers, and they loaded the other 5% – the Catholics – on a flatbed truck and took us into town for afternoon Mass. Bonus – we got ice cream after!  But 4 weeks? What were my parents thinking? They were crazy like a fox, because I loved it all.

Boxes from Amazon Prime that you order for yourself, no matter how many, do not count as care packages.

For those of you who don’t remember the Ginsu knives ad, it was kind of the original infomercial in my life. I found one of the ads on YouTube, and it’s better than I remember. Why would you ever need to cut through an aluminum can? And the price, for all of that stuff, is way lower than you would expect, even with inflation. For the record, $1 in 1980 (when that commercial was filmed) is worth about $4 in 2024 dollars. Here’s the ad.

Also, even though care packages were better received, Ozark Boys Camp was the beginning of my dad’s efforts to write me a typed letter almost every day when I was away at camp, and even when I went to college. I still have a number of them, and they mean even more now. Thanks, Dad.

The photo at the top is from ChatGPT. It’s always an adventure to get that image as correct as possible. In my prompts to ChatGPT, I listed the items I’d like to see. But it kept on adding a cup of coffee. I would instruct it to repeat the picture, but take out the coffee. Then there would be two cups of coffee. I used all caps, and that resulted in an apology, but the coffee was still there. Eventually, and this is now a pattern, I give up, and ChatGPT wins. Maybe that’s a small metaphor for our future relationship with AI.

The picture of my mom and me that Pat sent was totally new to me. That alone is an incredible gift. It was taken on a local beach here in Malibu in 2005 at my sister Martha’s wedding. In that picture, my Mom is 64 and I am 43. She looks way better than my 62-year old self, and I don’t look 43 any more. What a precious memory. Also, damn, does time go fast. Let’s enjoy today, my friends!