Never miss a chance to love
Story by: Lydia Dodson
I work in a retail store buried among 134 other stores in a popular outdoor outlet mall nestled
in tourist Williamsburg. My day to day is filled with many many different types of customers. Some
have traveled hundreds of miles. Others across several oceans. And others five minutes down the road.
Some of these faces are smiling. Others are tired. Many are filled with enjoyment. An equal amount
with irritation. Many times their smiles reflect onto my face. Exhaustion and frustration are also quite
often easily shared from on face to another. But at the end of the day, we count the money, sweep the
floors, and forget the faces. On the really special and very rare days, a customer can touch my heart so
notably that their face is seared there forever. This was one of those days.
It was a very normal day. Opened the store. Got ready for another day. And then the phone
rang. I was greeted by the sweetest voice of an older gentlemen. Sincere kindness exuded from every
word he said. He proceeded to tell me he was a professor at the local college (my alma mater) and that
he and his wife shop at our store all the time. He explained how his wife had been in a short time ago
shopping for their granddaughter, who was a huge fan of our store. His granddaughter, he went on to
tell me, was a member of the armed forces and had been deployed to Afghanistan. Eagerly anticipating
her return, his wife had bought their granddaughter several welcome home presents at our store. I was
soon to learn the reason for his call.
“Well you see Lydia, just a few weeks before her scheduled return we recently lost my granddaughter in Afghanistan.”
As I heard the words echo in my ears, chills covered my body and tears filled my eyes. Suddenly my store, other shoppers, making money seemed so insignificant. As his own voice broke, he told me
about his adored 26 year-old granddaughter. How loving, selfless, joyful, and brave she was. I could
feel his pain and agony through his voice, and while my own heart has not known such loss, it terribly
ached.
“So you see, we won’t be needing those lovely welcome home gifts my wife had bought from
you.”
As tears escaped my eyes, he explained how they had looked everywhere for the receipt to no
avail. Being frequent shoppers and knowing of the return policies, he was calling to appeal for a bend
in the policy to get the cash she paid for the gifts to put toward a donation in their granddaughter’s
name. Unable to see the significance in any policy at that moment, without hesitation I insisted he come
in and I would refund the items. I have never heard a person more grateful than this man, who thanked
me over and over and said either him or another family member would come in later that day.
I tried my best to get back to the daily operations of my job. Helping customers find a purse.
Or getting yelled at because the line wasn’t going fast enough. But none of seemed to matter. Several
hours later a middle aged man walked in.
“Are you Lydia? My father sent me.”
That was all he could manage to say and that was all he needed to say. I looked into his eyes and
www.simplyelevate.com
23