Synchronicity is alive and well in Texas. Just the other day I received word that my brother-in-law, who is currently suffering from a number of different cancers, only has a few weeks left on earth. He is making preparations for his final departure into the great unknown and has requested that I write his obituary and put it in the local newspaper when the time comes. Of course, I agreed to perform this sad duty for him since there is little else I can actually do under the circumstances other than reflect on the mortal status of our earthly bodies and the hope of eternity for our immortal souls. Being a rather morbidly curious fellow, I have always contemplated the finality of death with no small fascination, wondering what I would do if I knew I only had a few weeks left. This blog is not about that, so I won’t go there.
This blog is about weirdness so I’ll get on with it. Later on, that same day, I was reading the newspaper with my mother and father and thought I would scan the obits and see what the latest trends in writing might be for such things since I haven’t written a real one in about twenty years or so.
I was interested to see that a prominent local doctor’s wife has passed at the venerable age of 92 years. I thought I had some kind of connection with her because her husband had delivered me at his tiny clinic some “few” years ago (or so I thought). I was discussing her passing with my parents, who are both getting on in years themselves and they were reminiscing about their various encounters with the now deceased doctor and his lovely wife over the years. In fact, the doctor’s son had delivered both of my own daughters (small town, you see). At any rate, I read part of the obituary that caught my eye wherein Mrs. Doctor had actually worked in the clinic helping with the young mothers and their new babies providing fresh linens, food and other personal services while pre and post natal.
At one point, the obituary read, Mrs. Doctor had delivered a baby all by herself because Mr. Doctor didn’t make it to the clinic in time. It seemed the young mother didn’t follow the accepted norms and had her child much faster than the good doctor anticipated. He was still across the street, apparently eating breakfast when the child arrived.
When I read this paragraph, my mother suddenly sat up straighter in her chair and pointed at me. I was startled by her appearance and thought perhaps she was in pain or something. Then she said “That was you! Mrs. [Doctor] delivered you! The doctor was too late and you wouldn’t wait for him.”
I was quite taken aback to learn this interesting fact after almost 60 years. I always thought I was somehow special and I’ve always been a tad impatient.
So, that, my friends, is how I made it into the obituary column quite unexpectedly and though I really can’t say it makes much difference, it did make me wonder just how much I don’t know about myself!