I ’ll never forget the day when our cousins shipped a box of bugs to our mailbox. When I first laid eyes on the package, I was oblivious to the contents and was, therefore, downright giddy. You see, Cousin Mary Ann shares my love of jewelry and I couldn’t help but think that perhaps she had purchased me a stylish broach.
I wasn’t disheartened to see that it was addressed by her husband, Tom, for Tom liked to send things to me now and then as well. Take, for instance, the refrigerator magnet he mailed to me out of the blue that said, “Who are these kids and why are they calling me mom?”
Tom just did things like that. As a father of four girls, he knew how to make women happy and how to make my day.
As I slowly began to open the insect-ridden package, my children looked on. “What is it?” they asked with excitement.
“I don’t know yet,” I responded. “All I can tell you is that whatever it is, it’s mine.”
“How do you know it’s yours and not mine?” my little Charlie inquired.
“Because it says Lori and not Charlie, see?”
When I first laid eyes on the Nordstrom box that was safely tucked in the mailer, my heart leapt with joy, but only for a minute. Yes sir, once the malodor assaulted my nostrils I knew this was no broach.
“What is this?” I asked with disgust.
“Whatever it is, it’s yours!” Charlie proclaimed as he ran away to escape the stench.
All the way from Virginia these cicadas had come. It goes without saying, they did not travel well. I’ll spare you the details and simply say that cicadas tend to travel better and maintain their crispiness when they can travel under their own power.
One might wonder why seemingly normal people would take the time to ship such a thing. Were Tom and Mary Ann sinister? Did they sport unibrows and menacing grins? Were they the sort of relatives who park a beat-up camper on your driveway and run raw sewage onto your front yard?
In a word, no. In fact, they are actually quite normal people. I would go so far as to say considerate because those cicadas not only put our son’s bug collection over the top, but he was able to trade the bulk of the bounty for much coveted bugs such as a Granary Corn Weevil or even (darest we dream) a Sorrel pygmy moth.
Naturally, I expressed my gratitude to Tom and Mary Ann for taking the time to collect and ship their one-in-17-year cicadas and then let them know that I truly would have settled for a mere broach.
It wasn’t long before yet another package arrived from Tom. Not wanting to be teased again by the children, and being ever-fearful that it housed yet another infestation of one sort or another, I opened this package alone.
There was yet another Nordstrom box, only this time there was no hideous odor. This one housed a truly beautiful rhinestone broach that Tom went out and purchased all by himself, accompanied by a letter that said, “Someone had to make up for the cicadas.”
That was our Tom.
Oh, how I love that broach. For other than my husband, Pat, no man has ever purchased a broach for me. And Pat had no idea he had purchased it.
Today that broach means more to me than simple words can express. You see, Tom went to heaven last week after a battle with cancer. Although cousin Mary Ann’s life and that of her children will never be the same, I know heaven is rejoicing his presence.
It makes me sad when I realize that I will no longer receive his emails, words of encouragement or constructive criticism. There will be a definite void in the lives of all who knew him.
When the time for 17-year-cicada rolls around in Virginia yet again, my mailbox will be empty. I have come to cherish the memory of the first batch a little more, for not everyone has someone who cares about your kids enough to ship you a swarm of cicadidae in a Nordstrom box.
And to think I would have settled for a broach.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” She may be reached by sending an email to [email protected].