Maybe they do speak…

A bit of an odd day today. I had an appointment with my PCP for a long-overdue physical. Leaving there, I got it into my head that, my doctor’s office being well over half way to the cemetery, I’d swing by and “see” her – the precise thought in my head: “I need to go see Kim.” So I did, enjoying my coffee and a bag of mixed nuts along the way since I had to starve and dehydrate myself until that blood was drawn for the physical….

On the way home, instead of my usual 8 Mile to I-275 route, I turned down 9 Mile, which yielded an unexpectedly more scenic route, oddly reminiscent of the drive Kim and I took after the doctor’s appointment during which she had decided she’d had enough of the chemo. Some of the scenery looked déjà vu familiar, but I’m sure I must have taken that path at least once back in my LIT college days, so no real mystery there.

Eventually, I made my way back to 8 Mile, and then onto Newburgh, figuring, for some odd reason, I’d stop at the Westland Meijer to get gas on the way home. The truck was almost 3/4 full, so I’m not sure why I decided that. As I approached 5 Mile, I was hit with an overwhelming compulsion to go to Kim’s Dad’s house which is along that route, and an urgent need to complete a “mission“ of intervention for someone I knew would be there, but whom I had already decided to let go their own way – I, frankly, had enough on my plate. I think that this “mission” may bear fruit.

Maybe it was just my conscience. Maybe. Or maybe it was Kim and her Mom, buried next to each other, making me an instrument to open someone’s eyes to what they were doing. Can’t say. I know I cried pretty much all the way home afterward – along I-275, as the desire to go to the Westland Meijer for gas disappeared…

If you are the praying sort, please say some prayers to strengthen the subject of my “mission.” And, while you’re at it, maybe a prayer for me, too. Thank you.

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