An open letter to Canada Post.
Our mail delivery person, John, is not only a kind man who goes above and beyond the call of duty for all of our neighbours, he most certainly does at least that for me.
I am a quadriplegic due to a motorcycle accident numerous years ago. When my husband, Ulli, and I moved into our first house together in Surrey, not only was Canada Post most accommodating, every postal delivery carrier since has been, especially John.
As you can imagine, moving into your first home is stressful. When my husband and I learned the mailbox that was designated to our home was too high for me to reach, we phoned Canada Post and they immediately gave us the lowest, most accessible post box available.
On a few occasions, John has gone out of his way to personally bring the mail to me when there was a huge pile. I guess somehow John noticed I enjoy my walks to the mailbox on sunny days. While being able to get one’s mail may seem like a burden to some, it is a privilege for me to be able to do so.
When I first broke my neck, I was pretty much paralyzed from the chest down, unable to breathe on my own or even scratch my own itchy nose. Fortunately, against many odds, I pulled through when the doctors told my parents I wouldn’t make it through the night.
Not only did I live when the doctors said I wouldn’t, I recovered to the point where I am able to move my arms and some of my fingers. I went on to live life to the fullest.
I completed a BSW at UBC about six years after my accident, then married “My Prince” in 1989 and have travelled the world and met many people who have changed and enriched my life forever. I don’t consider myself a wealthy person, however, I feel like I have won the lottery more times than I can count.
I don’t judge people by the size of their house, the number of certificates on their office wall, etc. What matters most to me is people’s actions – most importantly, how they treat other people.
John’s “random acts of kindness” have meant a lot to me, especially on those cold, dreary winter days when I am often stuck inside the house because I find it is too cold for me to go out. When he drops off a “special delivery” that I have to sign for, I race to the door with a big smile on my face in anticipation of my “gift,” – often I am still in my PJs but I don’t care, because I know John accepts me just as I am.
Kim Vlchek, Surrey