Jody Beth, my faithful pup, brings me my cane I left in the bird garden. The carved, wooden handle of my cane is dangling, chewed up. The cane is useless.
As told to me by my mother a hundred times, when her mother was dying upstairs, little Donnie Kuhl, age three or so, mixed up a glass of Kool-Aid to take upstairs for his grandma.
By the time little Donnie mastered the final stair, no Kool-Aid was left in the glass. Grandma’s thirst went unquenched. My ailing grandma reached out and gave me a big hug anyway. My mom did, too.
Today, I put the cane in the trash barrel and got on my knees to give Jody Beth a big hug.
For 70 years now, I have witnessed many gestures of kindness. Whether the handle has been mangled or the glass shows up empty doesn’t matter much in the big scheme of life. It’s the gesture that counts.