I remember the day I first met Wendy. She was a cheerful six-year-old building a sandcastle on the beach near my home. I didn’t feel like engaging with a child at that moment, but she persisted, eager to share her joy with me.

As we chatted, Wendy told me about sandpipers and how her mom said they bring joy. It was a simple and beautiful sentiment. Little did I know that this encounter would change my perspective on life.

In the following weeks, my days were consumed by mundane tasks and responsibilities. But one morning, I felt an urge to escape to the seashore, seeking solace in the soothing waves. As I walked along the beach, lost in my thoughts, Wendy suddenly appeared again, filled with excitement.

“Hello, Mrs. P! Do you want to play?” she asked, her infectious enthusiasm shining through.

Caught off guard, I replied sarcastically, “What did you have in mind? Charades?” To my surprise, Wendy giggled and confessed that she didn’t know what charades were.

So we simply walked and talked, discovering each other’s lives. Wendy lived in the summer cottages nearby and was on vacation with her mother. As she shared her innocent stories, I couldn’t help but notice the purity of her spirit.

Days turned into weeks, and Wendy became a familiar presence in my life. But one day, burdened by my own troubles, I harshly pushed her away. I couldn’t bear the weight of my grief, so I shouted at her, revealing the pain of losing my mother.

Wendy, ever empathetic, asked softly, “Did it hurt when she died?” Her question caught me off guard, breaking through my self-absorption. I realized that Wendy’s genuine concern surpassed her age.

Weeks went by without seeing Wendy, and a sense of guilt consumed me. I couldn’t resist the urge to visit her cottage. Her mother answered the door, and the pain in her eyes told me something was terribly wrong.

Mrs. Peterson, Wendy’s mother, explained that Wendy had passed away from leukemia. Tears streamed down my face as I listened to her speak of Wendy’s love for the beach and the delightful moments she experienced there.

Then, Mrs. Peterson handed me an envelope, smudged with crayon marks. Inside was a vibrant drawing of a beach, a sea, and a bird—a sandpiper. Underneath the drawing were the words, “A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.”

Overwhelmed by emotions, I embraced Wendy’s mother. We wept together, finding solace in each other’s shared grief.

Now, in my study, hangs Wendy’s precious artwork. A reminder of the harmony, courage, and undemanding love she taught me in her short but impactful life.

Wendy’s presence may have been fleeting, but her legacy remains. She showed me the true gift of love, exhibited in her sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand.

Let us learn from Wendy’s wisdom and hold onto the joy and love that life brings. Share this heartwarming story with your loved ones and embrace the precious moments that come our way.