“Deliverance” | Reflection by Sarah Woodford

Packages, they show up on our doorsteps, brown and square, with “to” and “from” addresses. There they sit on our doorsteps, perch on our back porches, and loiter in our front lobbies. Sometimes we trip over them in our front hallways. Regardless, they are envoys bearing items from another place—brought into our lives by men and women who take the time to say hello and chat about the weather.

It wasn’t so long ago when these package deliveries were a weekly— and even a daily—deliverance for me. During the pandemic, these boxes contained items from Ohio, New York City, South Carolina, England, and Scotland. These all are places that are dear to me, and during the pandemic, I could not physically be. Yet through pottery, apple butter, Chelsea market salt, chutney, and Harris tweed, these places drew near and brought their physicality to me. Around my birthday and at Christmas, they provided presents from my family and friends as well as a way to connect and celebrate while still being apart. Sometimes, these boxes transformed into paper or plastic bags, often containing groceries and the occasional bottle of gin. But whatever form they took, they delivered me from loneliness and hunger and gave me hope that in the future, I could once again embrace the hands and arms of those who packed the boxes, taped them up, and dropped them off at their local post office.

Who knew a package could contain so much emotional baggage?