Sometimes I forget the heroism that goes into daily life for people—the quiet ones, who live their lives quietly and with dignity.

You will never see them on the news or get to read books about them; they are not flamboyant or controversial.

When I get these messages from what I call “The Heartland,” I’m touched compellingly by the bravery and generosity of spirit most people have. Unfortunately, few of them ever get to Washington or are seen on cable news.

This message came from Northern Minnesota, from a woman named Mary Lee. I don’t know her and will almost certainly never meet her.

I do not see myself as much of a big deal; I forget that some people are shy around me and when it comes to talking to me. They are often afraid I will think they’re after something.

Mary wrote to say she had just finished reading my book Saving Simon about Simon, the donkey, “and I simply think it’s great.”

Her letter says a lot about the creative spark, and how it burns so brightly in all of us. Decades later, Mary Lee is still fighting for her poem.

I am moved also that Mary Lee thought of something I wrote at such an important time in her life and took the time to write to me.

Mary Lee’s mother is 87 and is breathing on oxygen tubes. She has Covid-19.  There are no ventilators in Northern Minnesota, if people need one they are sent to an urban hospital.

Her mother has lived for five years with dementia, is non-ambulatory, and speech aphasic (she can’t formulate language). She has Do Not Resuscitate orders and is on comfort care only.

Mary says she and her siblings are all on the same page: “if this is her time we can deal with it as long as she is kept comfortable. ”

I bow my head in awe when I think of how many people have been through this experience in America, and are going through it now.

“I work at the front desk of a senior healthcare center where my mom is currently upstairs fighting Covid. The book touches so many happy and sad emotions and brought me back to my childhood when my mom and dad rented a pony for me at Springhill Dairy. There was a stud donkey there named Elvis that all of us kids just loved. When they raffled off one of his babies in my 11th year, my parents wouldn’t let me enter. I’ve always felt that loss, and I just turned 60! I’m glad you could have donkeys and love them.

I wrote this poem ten or more years ago about that donkey Elvis and thought you might enjoy it. I feel sort of silly and hope you can see I’m not seeking anything – I’m sharing this in honor of Simon and you and your wife’s good spirits.”

There is nothing silly about Mary Lee’s note, and I am grateful for it.

Here is her poem. If you wish, you can e-mail her at [email protected].

Messages like this are precious to me.

The Lesser Of Two Elvis, By Mary Lee

Elvis, the King, sang a lot; Elvis, the Donkey, sang a lot.

One was King of Rock n’ Roll; One was King of the Barnyard

Elvis swiveled his hips; Elvis swiveled his ears.

Elvis got a lot of ass; Elvis was a lot of ass.

Elvis got fat and forgot his songs; Elvis sang the same song every day.

Elvis had no time to smell the flowers; Elvis ate the flowers and smelled.

Elvis died alone on the toilet; Elvis died in his sleep under the stars.

Nice latter, Mary, nice poem. Thanks for both and good luck.