Tragedy and The Garbage Man

Day one of our four day weekend started with markers, paper, a box, and a boy. With a day stretched before him, free of obligation, Nolan set out creatively. He designed and cut, taped and colored; worked meticulously until at last, with artwork complete, it was time to make a sign and prepare for the exchange of funds. Carefully, he stenciled, DO YOU KNOW MY PROJECT SALE IS TODAY on printer paper which he then taped to the trash can at the end of our driveway. His stash of coinage was emptied from an old plastic holder into the new blue piggy bank his dad had recently brought home from work. All projects and money were placed in a box which he had likewise meticulously prepared using markers, scissors, paper, and tape. The box was taken to the end of the driveway somewhere near the advertising garbage can, but unfortunately out of my sight and mind.

Following lunch, we spent some hours working on removing sod from what will be a new flower bed at the pinnacle of our driveway's hill. Both boys were helping me shake dirt from the roots and throw the sod into a pile. Tiny droplets of salty water formed on each of our hairlines. We kept working. Gerret tired and climbed the nearby mountain of dirt-less sod, proclaiming himself king. An hour turned to two and stretched beyond two. We kept working. Gerret de-throned himself and embarked on a grand worm hunt.

Sometime soon after, I heard the rumble of a large vehicle traveling our way and remembered just as the brakes squealed before our house that it was garbage day. Both boys turned to watch with interest and maybe a bit of fantasizing about driving something so large and pulling magnificent levers to lift and crunch. And then the garbage man picked up a box that I hadn't put out with the garbage the night before. Realization struck. An alarmed boy started to run down the hill to stop him, but only made it a few steps before it was gone. All of his money, all of his drawings, all of his morning's intent. Gone. I watched the man finish dumping the last can and stop to read a careful child's handwriting. I don't know if he understood. I don't know if he connected the words on that paper to the content of the box he had just disposed of. I'm fairly certain he was too far from us to make out the aghast expressions on all three of our faces, because I couldn't quite decipher what I'm sure was a slightly bewildered look on his. Time stood still as he read the sign and paused a moment to consider it. I wondered if he could somehow retrieve the box, but my hopes followed him around the back to the driver's side and then rumbled down the road and out of view.

Nolan just melted. His face contorted with disappointment. Pain came pouring from his eyes. My heart broke for him. I scooped him in my arms and tried my best to assure him. There's always more money and more projects to be made and I'm so sorry.

I felt helpless, but Gerret stepped up and really redeemed the situation. He seemed more distressed over it than Nolan. Compassion seeped from his heart; I could see it in his eyes. He couldn't stop hugging Nolan and expressing his condolences and inquiring Nolan's condition. Gerret followed him into the kitchen, offering his own new blue piggy bank (though empty). Even thirty minutes later, Gerret continued to be extraordinarily clingy. Time passed and healed; Nolan was onto the next thing, but Gerret was still inquiring and caring. He was truly worried.

If not for the extremely tragic circumstance, it was a very sweet experience to watch one son offer so genuinely all of his support and love to his brother and have that brother so humbly accept.