Except replace “Smalls” with “Universe”.
Last weekend I placed an order for prints from an online photo company. It was only for seven of them, mostly some group pictures with friends over the last year because I realized they only existed on Facebook and I wanted real ones in an album. But, I also ordered a print of the announcement photo we had posted before we knew the baby was gone. In the direct aftermath of our loss, I had deleted the photo from my phone. Looking at it was too difficult.
But as I began to emerge from the fog, I realized I wanted that tangible photo. We were happy when we decided on and then took that photo. We were excited. That baby was already loved; the loss doesn’t take that part away. I remembered my husband had doctored it for text and then sent it to me, so I was able to find it in our messages and restore it for printing.
The photo company told me that my order should arrive by next Monday, so I was surprised but pleased when the bright package arrived in today’s mail. When I opened it up I was further surprised to find that they photos inside weren’t mine. In fact, there weren’t even photos, plural. There was just one. A photo of a woman smilingly brightly, while she held a slumbering infant.
You. Are. Killing. Me. Universe!
Seriously?! Of all the photos in all the world to get delivered to me instead of my own, it’s THIS?!
I kept pulling it out of the envelope trying to make sense of how it ended up with me. I didn’t know this woman. Did I? If I squinted a certain way did she look familiar? Was the background some place I recognized? Nope, nope, and nope. It was just a universal fluke. So, I contacted customer support and (Good news!) my order is still safely on its way, and they just need me to send this stranger’s photo back.
But, damn. C’mon, man.