Near the end of December, I rendezvoused with my
brother at my sister’s house in Bay City, Texas. Together, we sat around her
cozy kitchen table and filled out the forms for Mom’s life insurance policies.
We double-checked each item to make certain we’d get it all correct on the
first run. Once everything looked perfect, I neatly stacked the forms into a
pile with the intention of getting the packet mailed before the end of the
year.
We
don’t have a post office in Live Oak, and the one in Universal City holds
banker’s hours. For years, we used a business that resided within walking
distance from my home. This company didn’t simply supply me with stamps. During
the busy Christmas season, I sometimes had them wrap and mail my gifts. When the
owner lost his lease, Mike shifted his business to Universal City. Unaware of
his new location, I often lamented not having his wonderful service nearby.
While running errands with one friend shortly before Christmas, she told me she
had to stop by Mike’s to send out a package. Imagine my pleasure of finding one
of my favorite local businessmen again!
So
with my precious paperwork in hand, I headed to UC Mailing and Shipping Center
once I returned to San Antonio. I planned on sending out the package registered
mail, but Mike suggested I add the signed receipt, too. He addressed the
parcel, I verified the address, and went happily on my way.
When
I didn’t hear anything from the insurance company (and when an automatic
deposit didn’t turn up in anyone’s account), I called the agent assigned to
Mom’s policies to find out why nothing had moved forward.
“Ms.
Chapman,” she said, “We haven’t received your forms yet.”
“That
can’t be! I mailed them out two weeks ago! Are you certain?” I couldn’t hide my
dismay when she ran our names through their system again and came up with
nothing.
If
I had gone to the local post office, they would have told me to go online and
plow through their tracking system, but since I’d gone to Mike, I called him
instead. I broke down crying when I told him the package of insurance papers
hadn’t reached Massachusetts.
“I’ll
take care of it,” he stated calmly. “I’ve already plugged in your name. I have
the tracking number right here. Give me a few hours, and I’ll see what I can
turn up.”
With
his reassurances boosting my spirits, I tried not to worry. Most of the time,
my grief sits deep in my stomach and leaves me alone. But when I’m stressed, he
kicks up and bursts out with unexpected tears. Facing the possibility of having
contact the insurance company, ask for an entirely new packet, meeting with my
siblings again, having things notarized—all suddenly seemed too much for me.
“The
package made it from UC to SA main post office,” Mike explained when he called
back, “and then it vanished. It wasn’t scanned in or out anywhere else.”
“What
does that mean?” I asked.
“It
means you need to let me have another 48-hours. No, Monday’s a holiday. Give me
until Wednesday of next week. I’ll find it,” Mike assured me.
I
began mentally crossing my fingers. Magical thinking slipped in to my days. I
tried to wish the parcel from lost to found. When I next called Mike, I stepped
outside to pace away my tension in the backyard.
“It
was delivered today!” he reported.
And
I danced a jig! I hooted and whooped with absolute relief and joy! And I
promised myself that I’ll pull together some little “thank you” package for
Mike because he did this for me.
Some
people would say that Mike was only doing his job, but in reality I should have
been the one tracking the package and hassling with the post office. If I’d
dropped of the package to a local post office, all of that responsibility would
have fallen to me at a time when I couldn’t take on another responsibility. So
Mike wasn’t doing his job. He granted me a favor by taking care of something
that I wasn’t able to handle.
In
the back of my mind, since delivery of the paperwork, I’ve worried about something
else going wrong. Then yesterday I checked the balance on my checking account
and felt relief flood through me because the insurance company’s automatic
deposit had arrived.
One
more item crossed off the list.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
