22/07/2024
I was 11 years old when my mother died and the day after she passed away, I remember being at my house as all of these grownup people kept coming over. I knew why, but the whole scene was confusing and somewhat unnerving for a sixth-grade boy.
All I wanted was some form of normalcy and that’s when an angel was sent my way. Jennie Mills, mother of one of my good friends, checked her son Doug out of school, came by the somber scene and brought me to her house. Doug and I played catch, we watched TV, we rode bikes – we did everything normal 11-year-old boys do.
A little more than a year later, the Mills family moved to New Orleans, but I have never – and will never – forget what they did for me that day. I didn’t need some people I’d never met to hug on me and tell me how sorry they were. I just needed normal. It was one of single greatest acts of kindness that has ever been bestowed on me, and it has only grown in significance as I have grown older.
A couple of years ago, those 11-year-old boys connected again on a golf trip and I told Doug how much I wanted to give his mother a hug and tell her thank you. That’s all; I would be content with just that. We tried a couple of times, but it just didn't work out.
Until Saturday.
On the way home from the annual beach trip, I made a detour to New Orleans to see Mrs. Mills – who had seen only once in the last 50 years – and let her know how much I appreciate what she did for me on that day in 1971. It ended up turning into a lunch and we all reminisced about so many things from so long ago. It was far beyond my expectations.
And when it was time to go, I hugged her one more time. Like an 11-year-old boy.