by Pamela Morsi
“Mikki’s mega-transport is way lofty,” she said. “But yeek of the universe, Mom, it has a car seat in the back. That’s a natural guy repellent.”
“Little Worth has to sit somewhere,” I told her.
“You mean Lofton IV,” she said. “That’s what I call him.”
“Sounds more like a space mission than a baby,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, well, let’s take this Beetle-thing, it’s like…sort of cool.”
She was right. It was sort of cool. We were in agreement on that.
Dear Chester,
Today is the two-year anniversary of my car accident on the interstate. I know I thanked you at the time, but I never actually expressed my gratitude in writing, and Buddy Feinstein thought that doing so now might bring some kind of closure.
I remember you with lots of love, a blossoming understanding and moments of regret. I wonder if things might have turned out differently if I had never befriended you at all? I’ve thought about that—I’ve thought about it a lot.
If I’d taken my chance at a new life, with the same selfish entitlement that was so typical of me, then you might never have been given the means to end your own life. Today you might still be lying in that bed in Bluebonnet Assisted Living. Growing weaker and maybe blind, but you could be breathing and talking and living among us here—if I hadn’t become your friend.
Would that have actually been a good thing?
It wouldn’t have been for me. Without you as my mentor and confidant, I would never have been able to keep my promise to do good. And working to fulfill that vow has changed everything in my life.
Just exactly as it was meant to.
Brynn and I have found some peace together, though I’m not taking it for granted. The road to mother/daughter understanding is a long one and we’re working on a couple of generations of bad track record.
Scott and I continue to grow closer. The “M” word has yet to be spoken, but it would be a natural progression from where we are right now. Though it will surely mean change. I’m not afraid of the future—perhaps because I’m too busy living in the present.
My journal entries went into the trash a long time ago. I don’t give myself point scores for deeds anymore. I found that over time I was having to subtract almost as often as I was adding. The math just got too much for me and I gave it up.
I am convinced that there is justification for all things and the logic to the universe is benevolent rather than benign. Whether that is God or just the result of God, I have no idea. All I know for certain is that when I prayed for help, you were sent to my rescue. I am alive, and that is not happenstance or inconsequential. My life has purpose and meaning beyond my intentions. The full scope of that, I can never fully know.
I suppose that is about all I have to tell you. Though I think I could talk with you for hours if you were here. Say “hi” to my mother if you see her, and tell her that I am doing good.
Jane
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5167-4
THE SOCIAL CLIMBER OF DAVENPORT HEIGHTS
First published in 2002 by MIRA Books under the title DOING GOOD.
Copyright © 2002 by Pamela Morsi.
This edition published April 2010.
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