| Subject: Letters to Samson - 32 |
Author:
Holly
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Date Posted: 08:23:21 10/19/07 Fri
In reply to:
Holly
's message, "Letters to Samson - 1" on 18:59:32 06/04/05 Sat
I have been meaning to write to you about paying attention, particularly when you and another person share a common path. A trajectory. More than a couple of meaningful coincidences.
I have wanted to get this stuff out of my head and onto the page for awhile now, and I just haven't been able to do so. Meanwhile, stuff just keeps piling up:
You and your friend Catherine: born two weeks apart to women who met on an internet message-board dedicated to a fundamentally flawed and terminally blunt soap opera character who reminded us - the women - of your fathers. And that's only the beginning. You both are smart, sensitive (in many ways), often underchallenged, highly verbal, thoroughly delightful children.
You and your friend TJ are two peas in a pod. The night you met, you stayed up all night talking, and you did not stop for the entire time we visited. TJ happens, just happens, to be the son of my closest friend from childhood. We went from strangers to inseparable friends in a matter of about thirty seconds, and, if it weren't for her (and baby TJ), you might not be here. TJ's mom and I have similar medical issues. It is entirely possible that, if there is an environmental component to autoimmune disease, we experienced the same one.
I want to write about these things, but I am even more demented than usual. I have been withdrawing cold turkey from a long-acting anti-convulsant that no one is ever supposed to stop without supervision. I ran out. Oops. So now, I find out that what I thought was a super-low dose, probably safe to take, thing had a half-life in the Dr. Marie Curie range, and I've thrown my nervous system, already damaged by lupus, into complete disarray. Also, because it actually was a small dose, I've passed the point of no return for going back on the drug in order to taper off it.
I have been useless for nearly a week. Jumpy, distracted, unable to follow a conversation. Mean, sometimes. It feels like there are ants in my veins. My feet are balloons. And I lost your tooth.
Your dad broght it home to me yesterday morning. By noon, I didn't know where it was. I looked everywhere. I've lost bills, checks, applications, keys, hats, and shoes. But this is a precious thing. Irreplaceable. For all I know, I brushed it into a stack of crumbs and threw it away.
I have your note to the tooth fairy. You drafted and wrote it yourself. It was your idea for her to look in your mouth to see that you have, indeed, lost that tooth. You think and write clearly. This makes me proud. And I am thrilled to have this note, since, soon, I am sure, you will figure out how the tooth fairy is able to claim all those teeth in any given night and keep track of the arrangements customary to each child.
You're going to figure it out.
I am the tooth fairy...
's HELPER!
But, the thing is, the deal is, that in return for helping the tooth fairy, I am supposed to get to keep the tooth.
Incarnation is supposed to have its rewards. But I blew the job.
That is going to happen from time to time. You need to learn that, too, as do your friends TJ and Catherine. Shining perfection, the lot of you. Brilliant perfectionists to a one. Your paths are likely to cross a few times more, and, when that happens, I believe it is for a reason.
Whether that reason is God, or is that like attracts like is an immutable law of physics, or is as simple as random happenstance, please pay attention, because I think there's usually something to teach or something to learn.
Or both.
And while I think that's probably true at any given moment in time, the ones where a friend has come back into your life are the easiest to appreciate.
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