Andre. The Fed Ex man's name was Andre Green and he was a welcome sight to my son Amos and me. We had been outside, him playing and me washing the car. It is hard to ignore a large Fed Ex truck and this one stopped in front of our house and the smile behind the steering wheel was wide and bright. He stepped out of the truck, not with the package I expected, but a can.
"First, let me help you with your tires," he said, quite jovial and I was unusually dumbstruck. He showed me the can and began spraying each of my tires. I had been cleaning the rims as he drove up and I couldn't believe he had come up with a can of cleaner within seconds of seeing me. He did each of my tires and then handed me the can. "For you," he said.
Back to the truck and he handed me the box we had been expecting. A large cardboard box marked with the familiar label from PRC, the maker of Amos' new augmentative communication device. Since the approval from BCBS over a month ago, we had been diligently waiting, filling out more paperwork, calling, and more waiting.
I had wondered how it would feel to finally be handed the package that holds an important part of my Amos' future. Would I feel sad that it had come down to needing such a device? Would I be excited that finally we would move forward? I was relieved. His voice, his desires, his means to communicate and connect with the world outside his own little familial hemisphere, all packaged in a device with infinite possibility. The moment was a bittersweet too, though not for the reason I expected.
No, it was Andre, the kind Fed Ex man that cleaned my tires and showed me that the world is kind and thoughtful. This world would embrace my Amos, voice or no voice, and in that moment, we were shrouded in love, anticipating a bright future.
Thank you, Fed Ex.