Back when I was young and foolish, I thought that there was no rhyme or reason to the people who peopled my life. I just thought that the universe was random. If there was a Higher Power, it was capricious and inscrutable (apparently, lazy in spite of Its omnipotence). Therefore, I gave no thought to the meaning of chance meetings.
I think everything changed for me when I faced a life-threatening illness four and a half years ago – this on the heels of having lost my father only a month before. Suddenly, life looked very fragile and precious to me. I know, it’s the oldest story in the book, but there it is. For a while, I didn’t know whether I would live to see the next Christmas. I had watched my father’s life sputtering out for months. Now I myself faced the same possibility. I had no choice but to get very philosophical.
As I lay in the hospital bed after surgery (and by the way, “hospital bed” is a misnomer – they are really examining tables with hard pillows) – personnel wandered in and out of my room at all hours. There were doctors, nurses, technicians, orderlies, candy stripers, even clergy. In the haze of my medicated state, they all seemed like angels to me. Every single person who walked into my room had their own story, their own problems, their own pain. And yet, they came to give me their undivided attention, their compassion, and their energy. It sounds strange, but during my hospital stays I felt amazingly safe and cared for. I could feel the prayers of friends and strangers being sent up for me before and after my surgery. When transfusions were given, I could sense the love with which people who had never met me had offered up some of their life force so that I could survive.
I must note that I was extremely lucky in that my family made sure I was never alone in the hospital. My sweet husband, my mother, my sisters, all took turns staying with me. They had a round-Robin (literally) in which one would walk in with their overnight bag when the other walked out. My family supported me in such a way that I could not possibly come to harm. I know that, and I want to thank them for the zillionth time for their untiring love. When I was too groggy to know the difference, they would make sure that the medicine in the IV matched the medicine prescribed in the chart. They would ask the doctor or the nurse to go over instructions for home care for the fifth time. They would ask for more medication when I was in pain. So I want to take a moment to acknowledge that, too. Everyone needs at least one good advocate in the hospital, not because there is anything wrong with the people who staff the hospital, but because hospitals are typically understaffed; you have one talented and dedicated person trying to do the work of five talented and dedicated people.
I guess you could say that all of this made me grateful. I am filled with gratitude for the kindness I have received over the past four and a half years. I have developed a theory about all this, too. I think that whatever the Higher Power (I don’t think He/She cares what name you use) – there is a carefully orchestrated reason for each encounter in our lives. Looking back now, I can see it with much more clarity.
When we moved to Kingston Springs, Tennessee from Los Angeles, California, we unknowingly bought a house next door to two of the dearest people we had ever met. J.P. and B.B. turned out to be so much more than good neighbors. They are, to this day, our close friends. I feel that B.B. is my long-lost sister from Mississippi. J.P., as it turns out, is an artist and musician with whom we have a lot in common. We could never have planned that. But Somebody could.
We came back to Los Angeles a few years ago to be with family. Just recently, we have been befriended by a neighbor two doors down. She is so much like I was at her age, and in some ways, so much like I am now, that talking to her is like talking to myself. We had an instant rapport, and I believe we will remain friends regardless of where life takes us.
A chance conversation with a woman in my chorale got me in touch with a fantastic voice teacher who is a mentor and a kindred spirit. Even though I am not taking voice lessons right now, I know that I have a great deal more to learn from her about many things, and we will remain friends.
And now, even when we go to a restaurant, I see the person serving our food as someone with whom there is a relationship, no matter how brief it might be. Why were we assigned to that particular person? Are they in need of cheering up? Am I in need of cheering up? How can we serve each other?
My mother-in-law, a wise woman who has taught me a lot, has a favorite adage. It would be easy to dismiss such a statement as a cliché. But a cliché only becomes a cliché because, darn it, they’re usually true: “There are no strangers; only friends we haven’t met”.