Feeding Three Birds with One Seed

This week, in a meeting with my advisor, I told her I would “kill two birds with one stone” when describing two tasks that I could take care of in a single action. She very kindly replied “Or, feed two birds with one seed.” This idea really stuck with me, partly because I love efficiency (I’m always on the lookout for “two-fers”, as I call them!), and partly because it connects with how I’ve come to think about Jackson’s Kindness Project. 

Allow me to explain. Yesterday, my friend Eliza went to the DMV, and unexpectedly ended up having to get her picture taken. She joked with the man helping her that she didn’t look her best, due to being up all night with her newborn. As they waited for a supervisor, they ended up making small talk and he mentioned that he had a daughter who would have turned 29 years old this fall. He shared that he had never loved anyone until his daughter was born, and that he loved her with his whole heart, more than his whole life combined, in her first and only three days of life. She died of SIDS. Eliza ended up sharing about Jackson and together they shared tears and a rare, unexpected sense of connection at the DMV. When the man left briefly to check on the supervisor, Eliza slipped him a Jackson Kindness Card and a Starbucks gift card she happened to have in her wallet, tucking them underneath his phone on his desk.

A two-fer, don’t you think? Except that it’s really a three-fer, because of the full-body goosebumps that it gave me to hear about this the next day. All three of us walked away with something as a result of this interaction. The man got to talk about his daughter to an empathetic stranger who listened to his story with care (and as a bereaved parent, I know that this is no small gift). Eliza got to walk out of the DMV with a profound sense of connection and perspective and spent the rest of her day imaging him picking up his phone and locking eyes with Jackson. As for me, I got to wake up this morning to hearing this beautiful story. A story that confirms Jackson’s continued, radiating impact on the world. A story that leaves me feeling like his life mattered, is remembered, and continues to make a difference. So yeah, I’d say that’s a three-fer. 

I think this is a powerful idea, for those who are grieving, or grief-adjacent (a term I stole from Norah McInerny). When someone dies, people tend to rush in with calls, texts, emails saying: “Let me know how I can help.” Which is lovely! But you only have room for so many flowers, and you can only eat so many casseroles. Kindness acts have been our favorite way to receive social support from others, our “grief love language”, if you will. Not only because they don’t require space on the shelf or space in our fridge, but because of the invitation they create for channeling goodwill in such a productive (efficient!), and meaningful way. Plenty of people out there (ourselves included, especially before we had experienced grief ourselves) are thinking about someone, wondering how they are doing, wishing that they could help. And due to fear, discomfort, or simply “not knowing how to help”, this well-intentioned energy simply often gets inhibited, bottled up, or set aside for another day, which often never comes. The Kindness Project has been a way of explicitly drawing out behaviors that channel this goodwill into a way that often leaves all of us (the kindness act-giver, the kindness act-recipient, and us—the parents of the child who inspired it all) feeling quite touched. 

Feeding three birds with one seed, indeed. 

Thank you to everyone who has participated in the Kindness Project and been brave enough to connect with strangers in memory of Jackson. Believe it or not, we’ve heard dozens of stories like the one above, and it always moves us to our core.