In my first conscious moment after the accident, I knew it was bad news. Would I even survive? At age twenty, I hoped to do a whole lot more living before I checked out.
I had been living life to the fullest over the weekend in San Diego. Along with my cousins, I took in the sights, shopped, sunbathed on the beach, and visited with my aunt. We weren’t the drinking, carousing kind, but too much of even wholesome fun can get you in trouble. After twenty-four hours with no sleep, I was in no condition to start driving home to Phoenix, Arizona.
At the hospital, doctors were surprised that I had made it. My neck was broken in three places. “If she lives, she’ll be paralyzed from the neck down,” one doctor told my parents. I required a complicated procedure to restore my neck to proper position. During a long recovery period, I would have to remain immobile. It would be some time before I could expect to return to normal, if ever.
In addition to my grim prognosis, the hospital separated me from family and friends. My parents could come to stay with me only on the weekends. How could I occupy the time?
Once I settled into a routine, I began receiving mail. When a large bouquet of yellow roses arrived, my private nurse opened the card. “Hmm, a secret admirer,” she said. In lieu of a name or signature, the sender had drawn a caricature of a man with a pleasant face. “Do you have any idea who sent them?” the nurse asked. “Not a clue.”
For the rest of the day, my mind whirled with questions. Roses spoke of romance, but I wasn’t seriously dating anyone. Did someone in my church group have a secret crush on me? I went over the names of the guys one by one, but dismissed them all.
The following day I received a card postmarked Springerville, Arizona. Who did I know in Springerville? My mind came up empty. The message read: “Hey, drive like you’re going to the dentist.” In other words, “Slow down.” Again, the drawing served as the signature.
Three more cards arrived on the same day. Two of them bore postmarks from two places in New Mexico and one from Arizona. The caption on a picture of the desert read, “The Desert is Alive.” Completing the thought, the sender wrote, “And so are you–ain’t you lucky.” That was my introduction to the colloquial style of the person whose identity was revealed only through the cartoon drawing.
“Did you ever date a truck driver?” my nurse asked as she examined the postmarks with a quizzical expression on her face.
Equally baffled, I said, “No. Never.”
The card arriving from Dalhart, Texas, read, “Now I ain’t much at prayin’ but like you sho’ put a lot of people on their knees.”
When I showed my cards to my parents, my mom said, “People at church are praying for you, but I don’t think this person is from our church. Otherwise, he would be praying for you, too.”
“At least the flowers and all the traveling say he should be able to support my daughter in style,” Dad said with a laugh. Although we had no proof, we all thought of my pen pal as a man.
Unless involved in an emergency, every nurse on the floor began to gather by my bedside at mail time to share in the drama as it unfolded. For me, mail time was good therapy that counteracted the pain.
Mail continued to arrive from various places in Kansas, Arizona, New Mexico, and Nevada. The content bordered on the unconventional, but was always in good taste. It never failed to bring a smile to my face and curiosity to my mind.
After six weeks in the hospital, I went home to the amazement of the doctors. A small but heavy package arrived. With the brick inside, the note read, “This fell off of my heart when I learned you were okay.”
Another card read, “Hey, I’ll probably see you Wednesday, Saturday, or Sunday—or maybe Monday, Tuesday, or Thursday. Who knows?” The familiar signature was followed by “P.S.–or Friday.” Would the mystery man finally reveal his identity?
I received no visitor, but mail kept coming. Florida and Nebraska were soon added to the postmarks. Overseas mail from Scotland, England, and France made everyone’s eyes pop.
The three-page letter from Scotland carried a return address from “76 Queen St., Castle Douglas, Kirkubrightshire, Scotland.” That was impressive enough even before I started to read: “Gee look it—I’m a long way from home. The rain here gets mixed up with the fog and, once in a while, you see a fish swim by five feet above the ground.”
Three months had gone by since my accident and I was still receiving mail. I never tired of the game. Even after I went back to work, I looked forward to coming home to find a surprise to uplift me or make me laugh.
One day a package came from Kansas, but this time something was different. There was a name: Dave Lefever. My mouth flew open, and I stood stunned. I knew him, but not well. His daughter Karen and I had been good friends through high school, but we had since lost touch. When I visited, I got to know Karen’s mother, but Dave was usually at work.
Without even opening the box of candy, I headed to the Lefever home. “So, you’re the one,” I said.
“Guilty as charged,” Dave said with his famous grin. Learning what happened to me had stirred his compassionate nature, and he wanted to do something positive to minimize the negatives of my situation. To ensure that his mission remained a mystery, Dave did not share the secret with his wife or daughter.
How had he been able to keep the suspense going for all of those months? He wrote up several cards and letters and sent them to a friend in Kansas, who mailed them at various times from various places. Most of the other mail went by air. Working at the airport, Dave gave letters to pilots and asked them to mail them at their destination. Dave’s mission required a lot of planning and effort, but he pulled it off perfectly.
Divine inspiration continued to affect the mystery man, too. Although he was not a praying man when he began ministering to me, Dave later joined his wife on her spiritual journey. Through little acts of kindness, he blessed so many people who crossed his path, like placing a rose on the piano at church to light up the face of the pianist.
Looking back, I remember the prayers that went up for me at the time of the accident. I believe God answered those prayers by giving creative ideas to a man with the heart of an angel. At a critical time in my life, suspense, mystery, and humor made the difference between despair and hope. I still cherish the more than 50 letters I received, and I recognize the value of human effort combined with divine inspiration.
Editor’s Note: This story was written as told to Esther M. Bailey. While writing this article, Esther quoted from the more than 50 cards and letters she had on hand from Dave to Marie. In addition, she frequently checked out details with Marie Stancato to insure the authenticity of the story.
SIMPLE WAYS TO ENCOURAGE EACH OTHER
Even small acts, done in an attitude of compassion and love, encourage and give hope to people during times of great distress and illness. Keep these ideas in mind as you seek to come alongside and lift a friend or family member’s spirits.
- Send flowers or other small gifts
- Send daily cards/messages
- Send soft blankets to cancer patients
- Sit with cancer patients during chemo treatments
- Research the patient’s condition and send a care package with things that would be helpful: lip balm, tissues, high quality skin lotion, Biotene (for dry mouth)
- Send books by their favorite authors
- Send puzzle books or make up puzzles like word searches with things personalized to them
- Send gift certificates for home cleaning, home chefs, or other services (or offer to do those things yourself)
- Write out and send prayers you have actually prayed for them
- Make visits, but check with the person first to see if it’s a good time. Remember to keep hospital visits, especially, short
~ By Marie Stancato
