I have mailed packages to my daughters in Europe. One was for Christmas, and another for their birthday. The process is not always seamless. Neither is it cheap. But the chance to express my love for them when they are studying in a foreign land is irresistible. In an effort to keep the weight of the contents down I looked for light things, like bracelets, earrings, a scarf, a CD. The post office lady has gotten used to their doting mother filling out international forms. This week she asked if they are coming home for the summer. I could not contain my excitement as I gasped that they indeed were. 

 

As it happens Aurelle's first Spanish teacher is headed to Madrid next week, and offered to hand deliver something. She was the first person to kindle Aurelle with a love for the language, and I am delighted to imagine them meeting in una cafeteria over churros. 

 

But what to send? It should be compact. In contrast to the circuitous journey of a parcel it could be perishable. Aurelle leaves the country in May, and must pare her belongings down to two suitcases, so it's probably not prudent to send clothes. 

 

The books I have read, and clips I have seen about messages from heaven come to mind. What would an angel choose to send, in that fleeting breech between earthly and celestial shores? Even if they could slip keys to a new car, or a stack of twenties into our hands, would they? Most people who feel a whiff of presence from a departed spouse or grandmother report communiques along the lines of reassurance, and devotion. What physical conduit could I find for such weighty feelings? 

 

I'm still hunting. Maybe even more precious is the awareness that the woman I will see when I deliver it will be with my youngest daughter in a few days. That alone makes me feel like the Mediterranean sun is baking my skin.