Remembering how my father had described Queenie's home, I knew where I was. She deposited the large piece of wood that we had found earlier next to the house, then beckoned me to follow her inside. I couldn't believe what I saw. All the furniture, the cabinets, the pictures on the wall and the many exquisite-looking sculptures-all were made from driftwood.
"Queenie, did you make all these things?" I exclaimed. She nodded her head, smiled a toothless grin and gestured for me to sit down. She left for a second. When she returned, she placed some cookies in front of me and scribbled on a large note pad. Her message said, "Hello Anne, my name is Erma. Welcome to my home."
I smiled and answered, "Hi Erma, these cookies are great, and your house is beautiful."
She reached over and patted my hands with great affection and then began to write again. "I don't talk very well, but I want you to know that I love your company."
"Me, too, Erma."
We continued our daily quests until it was time for the family to return to the city. Summer was almost over, and school beckoned. I saw tears in my friend's eyes as I said good-bye, and I assured her that I would see her next summer. She placed a small package wrapped in newspaper in my hands and kissed me on the cheek. I ran home, not turning to wave, as I knew I would cry. Inside the package was a seagull carved from driftwood. Today, some forty-eight years later, it still stands in my curio cabinet.
Sadly, I never saw Erma again. My parents sat me down after school one day to say a letter had arrived from the chaplain at the hospital on Long Island. Erma had been rushed to the hospital after being found lying in the snow near her home. She had lingered for several days before she succumbed to pneumonia. Before she died, she had written a letter in front of the chaplain addressed to "My best friend, Anne."
The chaplain knew my parents and of my association with Erma and had forwarded the letter to us. It said simply: "Thank you for being my friend. I love you. Take my driftwood and make others happy. Love Erma." It took me weeks before I could talk to my parents about Erma's death. She was the first person I knew who had died. I found it hard to relate to the fact that I would never see her again. I dreamed about her, the ocean behind her smiling face, the beauty of her driftwood.
My family donated the collection to the church community center for all to see and use. I told my parents that I knew this would make Erma happy. They agreed. Every summer, the first stop we made, upon arrival, was at this small meeting hall. I would stand and gaze in awe at the items that had come from the ocean and had been trans-formed into works of art by my friend. Mom and Dad said they were proud of me for the kindness I had shown toward Erma. I knew I had received so much more than I had ever given. I had learned that, like the ocean, love goes on forever.
"Queenie, did you make all these things?" I exclaimed. She nodded her head, smiled a toothless grin and gestured for me to sit down. She left for a second. When she returned, she placed some cookies in front of me and scribbled on a large note pad. Her message said, "Hello Anne, my name is Erma. Welcome to my home."
I smiled and answered, "Hi Erma, these cookies are great, and your house is beautiful."
She reached over and patted my hands with great affection and then began to write again. "I don't talk very well, but I want you to know that I love your company."
"Me, too, Erma."
We continued our daily quests until it was time for the family to return to the city. Summer was almost over, and school beckoned. I saw tears in my friend's eyes as I said good-bye, and I assured her that I would see her next summer. She placed a small package wrapped in newspaper in my hands and kissed me on the cheek. I ran home, not turning to wave, as I knew I would cry. Inside the package was a seagull carved from driftwood. Today, some forty-eight years later, it still stands in my curio cabinet.
Sadly, I never saw Erma again. My parents sat me down after school one day to say a letter had arrived from the chaplain at the hospital on Long Island. Erma had been rushed to the hospital after being found lying in the snow near her home. She had lingered for several days before she succumbed to pneumonia. Before she died, she had written a letter in front of the chaplain addressed to "My best friend, Anne."
The chaplain knew my parents and of my association with Erma and had forwarded the letter to us. It said simply: "Thank you for being my friend. I love you. Take my driftwood and make others happy. Love Erma." It took me weeks before I could talk to my parents about Erma's death. She was the first person I knew who had died. I found it hard to relate to the fact that I would never see her again. I dreamed about her, the ocean behind her smiling face, the beauty of her driftwood.
My family donated the collection to the church community center for all to see and use. I told my parents that I knew this would make Erma happy. They agreed. Every summer, the first stop we made, upon arrival, was at this small meeting hall. I would stand and gaze in awe at the items that had come from the ocean and had been trans-formed into works of art by my friend. Mom and Dad said they were proud of me for the kindness I had shown toward Erma. I knew I had received so much more than I had ever given. I had learned that, like the ocean, love goes on forever.