The package was suspect from the beginning.  The return address indicated online mail order shipping.  I did not order anything, so I held it at arm’s length and gingerly pulled the tear strip, shielding my eyes lest something sinister or invasive explode into my living space.

Boom!  It was a T-shirt. Black.  Presumably in honor of Mother’s Day since my birthday will not come for another month. Common but for the text that made my knees weak and caused my heart to sing.

But who was it from?  “Your kids?” My helpful roommate suggested.  I shook my head.  “Are they not musicians?”  Yes.  Yes they are.  All of them. “Even the youngest?”  Yes.  Especially the youngest.

Especially the middle one.

Especially the oldest.

“Well, I confess,” she said, looking like she had inside information, “it wasn’t me.”

But who? Let’s round up the usual suspects and hear their alibis.

My parents: generous, but never order anything online with a credit card

My daughter: flat broke.  Just returned from missions trip.  Ready to start new job.

My oldest and D-I-L: suspect, but not their style.

My youngest: not his style, though he designs and works textiles.

My other roommate and longtime friend: generous, busy hosting her own family during the specified time.

Friend and former co-worker:  implicated because she was guest at a birthday party where the live band consisted largely of my three children and she retains details like that in her mind.

Cousins: I have 32.  Three have been known to gift and acknowledge me in musical ways.

Brother and S-I-L:  Always culpable when it comes to generosity and gift giving.

Ex-husband: Highly unlikely. I have two.  One would be capable of this.  One not.

Current friends:  Thoughtful, insightful; would they do this for a lark?  If they could. Like me, their first gifts, allegiance and obligation go to their own families and futures.

A dozen writer friends:  Would they dream up something like this to create mystery or fulfill a good story?  You bet. They get it.  They are also starving writers.

Past coworkers and friends who know me well:  Though the memories remain, the past is in the past.

Miscellaneous benefactors: They gave already this year in the form of symphony tickets.

A multitude of old Band Mates and Choir Mates on Facebook: Doubtless guilty of sharing information that led to this incident.  Uh huh.  Indicted as accessories.

I am pretty sure now who gifted me this T-shirt  (As always, the one you least suspect) but it was heartening to round up all the suspects – more than 50 – who can be accused of the motivation, interest and generosity to carry out a plan like this.   You see, recently I have been feeling overlooked -starved for affirmation.  Analyzing this mental list of suspects made it clear just how blessed I am!