“The Mailbox” was a short black and white film produced by Brigham Young University back in the 1960’s. It told the story of a little old lady who lived alone in her quaint rural farm home. She and her husband had raised two children in the rustic little house that was set back from the tree-lined road several hundred feet.
As the years went by, her children, a son and a daughter, went off to college, took professional jobs in big cities and grew away from their rural roots—and from their mother. But their mother never grew away from them. Every day when it was time for the mailman to come, she would bundle up in her winter coat and shawl and make tracks in the snow as she took the long walk to the mailbox to see if a letter had come from either of them. Nearly every day she could be found standing to one side of the mailbox when the U.S. Mail jeep pulled up. But seldom was the man able to deliver any such letter.
One day in a joking manner the postman said, “You know why you don’t get any mail? Your mailbox is so rusty and beat up that a letter couldn’t find its way to you even if it were sent!” The next day he found a freshly painted and refurbished mailbox with her name in big block letters. Even that didn’t help. The letters still didn’t come. In the meantime the little lady was a surrogate grandmother to neighborhood children who would come to her warm house to bake cookies and to hear the stories of her life long ago.
One day her daughter called on the phone but the little old lady, who was hard of hearing, appeared to make little sense in her replies because she could not fully understand what her daughter was saying. The daughter interpreted this to mean that it was time to put mother in a nursing home. After consulting with her brother, who agreed with her fully, it was decided that the daughter would write Mother a letter to inform her of their intentions to remove her from her beloved little house and put her in a nursing home. After all, they were both far too busy with their careers to make time or place for her in their busy lives.
A few days passed and, as usual, the little old lady trudged the long driveway to the road. When the mailman arrived he was overjoyed to be able to present her with a letter from her daughter. He gave her a big smile as he drove away. She quickened her pace back to the house, breathlessly sat down in her rocking chair by the lamp and fumbled with a letter opener. Before she could read the letter, she grasped her chest and died of a heart attack.
When the daughter’s phone rang in the big city, the little old lady’s neighbor informed her that her mother had passed away. “But,” the caller continued, “She must have died very happy because your letter was found lying in her lap.” On the other end of the line could be heard a gasp of remorseful horror.
How many of our loved ones wait breathlessly for a word of encouragement or endearment from us when a simple phone call, letter, or other communication could make their day? Isn’t it about time to quit procrastinating and get the job done? We—and they—might be eternally grateful.
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