To the usher at the Cardinals game who spent two innings helping me find a bottle of milk for my son.
When I asked if you knew where I could find milk at Busch Stadium on a hot summer evening, I expected you to shrug or maybe point me in a vague direction. Instead, you walked us to the Redbird Club even though our tickets did not give us access because you knew there was a bakery inside. They were out of milk. You could have stopped there, but you didn’t.
You took us three levels down to a store on the main concourse and searched the shelves with us. Still no milk. So you led us halfway around the stadium to a donut stand. And there, at last, we found what we were looking for. While I paid, you grabbed the straw my little boy kept asking for, along with napkins, just because you thought of everything. Then you walked us all the way back, up three levels, through the Redbird Club, and over to our section to make sure we didn’t get lost after such a long detour. Two innings had passed, but thanks to you, my son finally had his milk.
You never once asked why it mattered so much. Maybe you thought he was spoiled or that I was giving in too easily. If you did, you never showed it. All you showed was kindness.
What you didn’t know was that under his Yadi shirt, my son has a central line and a feeding tube. His little body works differently. Too much water can land us in the hospital. But milk, for now, is the one thing he tolerates. You didn’t know how hard it has been for us to go anywhere on a whim. How saying yes to last-minute Cardinals tickets was a little victory. You didn’t know we may be facing another big surgery soon. Or that I had forgotten his milk because I was on a long phone call with his doctor, talking through changes we are desperate to try to avoid that surgery.
You didn’t know any of that. You just saw a little boy who wanted milk. And you were kind.
For that, I will never stop being grateful.
Credit: This Gutsy Life