A Meeting By Chance
Today I went out for lunch with a friend, and after we settled the bill, she left while I quickly visited the bathroom before leaving to run some errands. As I walked out of the bathroom, a man was coming out of the men’s bathroom at the same time. I looked at him, and he seemed familiar. I smiled as he motioned for me to go first. Just before reaching my table to gather my things, I felt his hand on my shoulder and I turned to look at him.
“I know you, don’t I?” I said.
“Yes, from the funeral home. I met with you for your husband’s private visitation with your family,” he answered.
“YOU’RE PAUL!” I shouted. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with your for months. I….. I…. I… You don’t know, do you?” I stammered and he looked at me with a combination of empathy and concern for my mental health.
“Know what?” Paul asked. If it turns out that you, like Paul, don’t know why I felt the need to find him and share the story with him about John’s hand turned wooden urn, you need to go and read this post before you come back to this story. Don’t worry. I’ll wait.
So, now you know that Paul was the funeral director who filled in for Jamie on the day we went to say our final goodbye to John. Paul and I talked for quite some time that day a little more than two months ago and he shared that he also had two young children who were adopted, and that he felt very connected to my family as a result. What he didn’t know was that he had given us the brochure that gave us the perfect hand turned wooden urn. He didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to have given it to us, that Jamie had no idea how he even found that brochure in the first place, and he didn’t know how the wood became so meaningful to my family. I stood there stammering, at a loss for words (which rarely happens to me), not wanting to take up his time. He patiently waited, in full snowmobile gear, and said that he had plenty of time to hear the story that I wanted to share with him. I started to tell him twice, only to realize that I had to start over again; I’m pretty particular about my storytelling, obsessive would probably be the better word to describe it.
As I told him the story, he smiled while his eyes filled with tears. I said that I wasn’t sure if he believed that his presence and help that day was guided by John, but that my whole family was pretty convinced that John made sure he grabbed that brochure for us. He told me that he completely believed that this is what happened, and he and gave me a hug, thanking me for sharing the story.
“I’ve been stalking you pretty hard online ever since that day,” I told him as he giggled. Thank goodness he didn’t immediately alert the police to have my mental status assessed for a mandatory 72 hour hold. “I searched every funeral home within a 30 mile radius and searched the staff members for a guy named Paul because I didn’t know your last name, and I felt awkward asking the funeral director if he would tell me how to get in contact with you. Where the heck do you live?”
“I live about three hours away,” he told me, “but my family comes up to Arbor Vitae several times a year and I help Jamie out at the funeral home on occasion when I’m here. I was just there helping out today, in fact.” He then introduced me to his wife, who also stood in full snowmobile gear, waiting. We talked and laughed about normal things for a little while longer, all in an effort to convince him of my actual sanity. It seemed to work.
We both commented about how amazing it was that we ran into each other today, at a restaurant I have rarely gone to before. Clearly, our meeting was meant to be. John was undoubtedly working some kind of magic again today.
And, as chance would have it, I still don’t know Paul’s last name! For his sake, that’s probably best!
If you, or someone you care about is dealing with grief, here are some tips for coping with grief from people who are dealing with it themselves!
