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A cup of kindness
I finally found this photo (too late) for my brother-in-law, Jeff Shively’s, memorial service. It was taken 29 years ago. It shows Jeff holding my daughter, Sarah, who’d crawled into a pile of cold barbecue ashes.
Jeff died of cancer last month. He was 54. I’d rather remember him as he appeared in this photo, instead of the way he looked at the end of his life.
One morning about a month before Jeff died, Shelly called and said that Jeff awoke feeling pretty good that day. In fact, he felt so good that he wanted to know if Bruce and I could join them for breakfast at Deja Vu, his favorite breakfast spot.
When we arrived at Jeff and Shelly’s house to pick them up, Jeff was standing in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go. One hand held his portable oxygen tank with tubes that reached his nose. The other hand clutched the shoulder strap that held his black canvas “purse” that contained a pain pump that administered doses of narcotics directly into Jeff’s body.
He was a little loopy from the meds, but in good spirits. Like anyone who’s been cooped up inside for too long, Jeff was so happy to escape outdoors for an outing that had nothing to do with his illness.
The hostess seated us in a booth toward the back of the restaurant. Fine with us. Jeff was a private guy. He didn’t like to draw attention to himself, especially considering his dangling medical accessories. He just wanted to go out to breakfast like any other husband, brother-in-law, father and grandfather.
Jeff ordered coffee and a huge stack of pancakes. Maybe it was the meds or maybe it was the cancer, but Jeff’s behavior toward the end of his life was sweet and childlike.
Every forkful of pancake was THE BEST he’d ever had. He squeezed his eyes closed between bites, shook his head back and forth as he chewed and said how delicious it was.
Life was good. Pancakes were good. The coffee was good. Everything was good.
The first time the waitress poured Jeff’s coffee, he stopped her and carefully explained that he just wanted “this much” - holding up his thumb and forefinger to illustrate about an inch and a half.
Jeff was so weak that even a full cup of coffee was an effort for him to lift, and besides, full cups spilled easily. But nobody said anything. Jeff was an independent sort, and maintaining dignity was paramount.
The waitress said OK, no problem. She smiled, poured just that much and left.
She was barely out of our sight when Jeff tipped the cup back, drank all the coffee in one gulp and motioned back the waitress.
She came over, smiling. Her smile remained, even after Jeff asked for the same amount of coffee as before.
Over the next hour, I lost count of how many times the waitress refilled Jeff’s coffee cup - just that much.
Each time I prayed she wouldn’t give him a hard time, because Jeff was having such a good time. With a terminal illness, good moments are rare and fleeting. Take them when you get them and be grateful.
Besides, Jeff wouldn’t have put the waitress out for anything. In retrospect, I really think he’d lost track of time between coffee refills.
But then, I wondered and worried a little as I watched Jeff interact with the waitress.
Did she think his slurred speech and inability to focus meant he was drunk, not medicated? Did she think this guy (a neuropsychologist, by the way) was dim-witted? Did she think he was being a jerk?
No one would have blamed her if she’d eventually snapped and said, “Listen, buster, like it or not, this time I’m pouring you a full cup of coffee because you’re not my only customer. Deal with it.”
She never snapped. But she didn’t patronize him, either. She acted as if pouring less than 2 inches of coffee every five to seven minutes for a man she’d never met was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Maybe she’d seen his oxygen tank. Maybe she’d recognized his pain pump. Maybe she’d put two and two together and spelled serious illness.
I don’t know.
I also don’t know her name.
I only know she was blond, an angel with a bottomless coffee pot.
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Some little things to remember about a terminally ill person are always precious moments of time.
God bless, Jeff. God bless his whole family, immediate and extended
Wonderful piece, Doni, but found it difficult to read toward the end ( er, something got in my eyes….;-) ) One never knows where angels can be found, eh?
A truly lovely story! Kindness and compassion ARE what makes angels out of us humans. With so much anger surrounding politics these days, it makes me want to redouble my efforts at treating my fellow men and women kindly. A kind word or gesture from someone can completely turn my day around. And when I go out of my way to do or say something kind, what I get back in terms of how I feel makes it worth every effort. Thanks for sharing this story, Doni. I’m so glad this sweet, patient woman gave you all, especially Jeff, such a wonderful morning.
Doni, Thank you for sharing this dear photo. So glad you had that morning. What a wonderful example of gracious hospitality…
Your recognition of the kindness of the waitress and the sheer joy your brother in law received, doing things we take for granted, really got to me. I needed this story right now. I’m usually irritatingly upbeat but all the bad news lately has had me down. This was a wonderful reminder to appreciate and celebrate the small stuff. I can also tell you that, although we have never been, we will be going to Deja Vu. The kindness and grace of the waitress makes me want to support this establishment. With money so tight, we are very particular on where we spend it. We enjoy going out to breakfast and will make Deja Vu our new place. The story was beautifully written. You can tell Jeff was and is loved. That’s the legacy we all want to leave. Thank you!
Doni…What a great tribute to a wonderful man. Give my best to Shelly.
Sincerely,
Budd
What a great story of dealing with a horrible disease. I am truly sorry for your loss, but I am sure he is much better now.
Thanks for the example of Random Acts of Kindness, if we all only treated each other witht he same respect. What a beautiful place Redding would be>
Thanks Again,
Chef Duane
Hi Doni,
What a beautiful story…
I couldn’t help but want to believe that the waitress received as much as she gave to Jeff.
Theirs, is the fuel of eternity… Created over a breakfast! It reminds me of an old saying:
“We are each of us, Angels with only one wing,
And we can only fly, embracing each other.”
While I can’t remember who originally penned that, it was certainly conceived in the spirit of Jeff and the Waitress…
(Thank you for the good medicine, again, Doni.)
Alan
Proof that Angels are everywhere. Thank you for such a touching tribute. I’m sorry for your families loss, 54 is way to young.
Carolyn A,
Doni. Such a touching story. I can hardly see my keyboard. So sorry for the loss in your family. The waitress was a wonderful person. I think she knew…..
Good message Doni. Some places people don’t have the patience as that waitress.Sorry for the loss in your family.
Joe
Thanks for sharing that with us Doni. Jeff will be greatly missed. I too want to remember him as he was before the illness hit. He had a great smile didn’t he?!! Always a little mischievous.
Doni, what a beautiful story to start the day. The lady who owns Deja Vu is a wonderful person, she is also blond and frequently waitresses. I’m going to make sure she gets this article, so that she and her staff know how important this kindness was, and that a difference can be made in a person’s day and/or life by such a lovely response.
Also, fantastic picture of Jeff - looks so much like Matt!
That is such a sweet story, Doni. I know it will make the waitress so happy to know that she was able to make Jeff’s breakfast such a pleasant one. Kindness doesn’t have to cost a lot, and can be found in the simplest things, as you have illustrated in your story.
Doni, that is such a touching story! What a nice memory for all of you. So glad you all got to go out to breakfast and that your brother in law felt good enough to enjoy it, and have such a kind and warm waitress. THANKS for such a nice story. Sorry for the loss in your family, give my best to Shelly.
Doni, what a wonderful way to put into words your experience with Jeff. You have such a gift for replaying to others something you’ve experienced. I would like to add that Jeff was a very good looking man. Shelly mentioned at his service how handsome he was and how she was blown away with his looks the first time she saw him. It might have been the light shining towards his head that showed off his looks even better. She is so right. Jeff was a fine looking man on the outside as well as the inside based on the stories his family has repeated about him.