My Adventure: An Encounter with Life

Chapter 28
A Most Pleasant Surprise
At some point at Park Strathmoor skilled care facility, soon after I became aware that my brain was now seeming to function more clearly, my sister Missy surprised me one day by bringing in a shopping bag that contained two thick three-hole-punched white binders. Each was jammed with letters, copies of emails, and get-well cards that I soon discovered had been sent to me over the past couple of years. All had been received since the worst of my adventure had begun. My mother Nan and Missy had received lots of correspondence addressed to me but had never actually shared much, owing to my perceived mental state. They had carefully preserved the letters, cards, and reprinted emails pretty much in the sequence they had arrived. While both Nan and Missy had occasionally read to me some correspondence as it arrived, I had no idea how much additional correspondence had accumulated. My friend in Dallas, Bill Francis, upon learning I now had an email address thanks to my new iPad, quietly spread the word to my old fraternity brothers, former clients, and friends he knew of throughout the country. Apparently, concerned friends and acquaintances soon started a flood of emails and letters Bill then passed on to Missy and Nan. These writings became the binders my family assembled to hold in the event I became mentally aware again.
Despite Missy’s words of caution that I might find this mentally draining to read too much at once, I spent much of the rest of that day gingerly going through the binders, page by page. I cherish my memories of turning those pages, reading the incredibly kind missives. Page after page, friends and acquaintances uniformly expressed their concern for me and best wishes for how my sister and mother were holding up. Bill had spread the word of my unresponsive condition, my grotesque physical condition, but also my emerging ability to read notes from friends. What I read that day was nothing short of what you might hope your family and friends will hear about you at your own funeral. But here I was, experiencing it firsthand and before my own eyes. There were notes from my closest friends, but also notes from many friends I had lost touch with years ago. There were pictures of children and families I had not yet met. There were expressions of love and appreciation. From my years working with the fraternity house as a graduate adviser to a chapter of boys some ten to twenty years younger than me, I received the kindest, unexpected notes that really moved me. Hearing from now middle-aged guys I remember once being young, was really inspiring to me. What was equally thrilling was hearing from brothers whose letters frequently started out with something to the effect of, “Bill, you probably don’t remember me, but I was a FIJI in that class in the 1990s when our fraternity house burned down …” They then went on to express such kind feelings and concern toward me. I truly was moved; I realized that I was not alone. Several of these acquaintances soon became frequent correspondents via email. Some I truly did not remember (or barely remembered), but our relationship now developed further. This was all in addition to my own pledge brothers from the class of 1974, other SMU friends, and even high school and grade school classmates who were my contemporaries dating back to the 1970s. The effect was overwhelming on my emotions and created exciting optimism for my immediate future. What really struck me was how, in almost every letter, these friends said they were praying for me. They were asking God to please pull me through. This was so important to me, because many of these were old friends with whom we rarely had discussed religion or our personal faith. Friends I remembered from adventuresome rowdy travels and youthful fraternity house capers not to be mentioned more fully here were appearing now to be closer to their God and calling on his support to somehow give me the strength to pull through. The effect was very real on my faith and optimism.
Even though much of the correspondence was now up to two years old, it was a day I will remember forever. I realized these were letters and expressions of heartfelt concern that no one in my family assumed I would ever see. I was not going to live long enough to ever hear these sentiments. I thank God that my mother and Missy had the optimism and foresight to save these missives, perhaps in the hope that somehow, despite all medical prognostications, I might have a chance to actually read them. Perhaps they were only saving them as a memorial to be shared someday with my children after their father died. In either event, I felt it was an act of God that caused Nan and Missy to assemble and retain the two thick binders.
The correspondence I read that day frequently did drive me to tears. My door was shut, and I wanted it to stay that way. Several letters, simple in scope, confirmed that I was in some way touching people—I was making a difference in some lives. Of course, I had never consciously pursued that. Circumstances just happened. I believe people had been placed in my life, often at unanticipated times, who would go on to affect me forever. Now here was evidence that I, too, was making a difference in some people’s lives. I loved it. I knew others had done it for me and were continuing to do so. All I can say to readers is that you should be aware and look for it. You are making it happen for others (whether you fully appreciate it or not), and they are definitely making it happen for you. This is a true gift of God.