My husband has seen more than his share of these less-than-kind doctors, so have I.  That’s why when I found an orthopedic surgeon who was not only not an ass, but a genuinely kind, personable, pleasant human being, I was dumbfounded.  I saw Dr. Douglas Foulk for the first time after a skiing accident left me with a bone contusion.  I actually had to apologize for my gaping mouth during our first visit because I had never met an orthopedist who was nice.  He probably thought I had some weird doctor-patient crush.  But, I felt like I had found buried treasure.  So for every subsequent injury that I or my family had (and there would be many) Dr. Foulk was our “go-to” guy.   

So on Friday the thirteenth, we are not superstitious, my husband went to see Dr. Foulk to see if there were any new treatments, maybe one more scope or some magic shot that could correct his ailing knee.  The answer we got was not so lucky.  Not only was there nothing left for our favorite doc to do, but he wanted my husband to see another doctor who could talk to him about joint replacement.  He told my husband to talk to Dr. Douglas Straehley who was the knee replacement specialist at their practice.  He sent my husband on his way with shot of cortisone to buy him a little time while he pursued his knee replacement options.  When my husband returned with the news, I wasn’t completely shocked, we knew this day would come eventually, we just didn’t expect it at the age of 52.  As we commiserated over the perils of getting old, our twelve year old son came in from football practice with an unusually swollen and painful knee.  Maybe there is something to the bad luck predictions of Friday the thirteenth or maybe we were just due.

My favorites;  Sixth Sense, Ghost Story, What Lies Beneath, Stir of Echoes, The Others.  Are you picking up on the theme here?  These are all well told ghost stories in which spirits, unable to rest have a message to send to someone among the living.  I guess I love the idea that a spirit can live on, even if unnaturally in the world of the living.  I also love stories about reincarnation with a similar theme where a soul feels such a strong pull to right a wrong that someone has inexplicable memories of their past life. When I was thirteen, I read a popular novel, The Reincarnation of Peter Proud.  That book fascinated me because it was one of the first times I had ever heard any discussion of reincarnation.  For some reason the concept made a lot of sense to me. 

A few years earlier, I toured the Mormon temple in Salt Lake City.  I have very few memories of the tour except for one.  They had a beautiful system of murals which described their belief about heaven.  They talked about all the souls from the beginning of time spending eternity in the kingdom of heaven and it didn’t make sense to me.  Even as a kid, I had a profound sense of truth that their system of heaven just couldn’t be.  I thought there must be some system of recycling system for souls.  This sounds crazy, because I had no knowledge of a belief system that embraced this concept.  But at that moment in time, in a sacred temple that the Mormons had built as a testament to their beliefs, I knew in my heart that life and death was more about a continuous cycle of life, learning, death and rebirth.  I had no judgment about the Mormons and their beliefs, only that, in my mind, they had gotten at least part of the story wrong.  Looking back I find it hard to believe that I had such a strong sense of how it all worked at such a young age without any outside instruction.  It wasn’t like a grand epiphany; it was just a thought which I tucked away in the back of my mind as I observed what the Mormons believed and I went on my way. 

If anything, I think I felt a sense of disappointment in learning that my beliefs were not aligned with what the Mormons believed because I wanted that connection.  I had so many aunts and uncles and cousins who, I believed, were part of a wonderful loving circle.  All I had to do was “believe” and I too would “belong.”  This message was not being forced upon me.  It was something I came up with all on my own.  I had heard stories about my lineage.  I knew I was descended from a long line of Mormons, but my dad had rejected the church, labeling himself as a “black sheep” and separating me from what I thought was a more prestigious pedigree.  I loved Mormons.  I still do.  They all seem to have such a strong sense of self and family and morality.  I knew my dad had rejected the church because he had seen a hypocrisy that drove him away. 

He told stories of being very poor as a kid even though he had wealthier grandparents.  Grandparents that would allow him to go without a coat in the winter because they objected to the man their daughter had married.  My grandparents on my dad’s side died when I was a baby, so I could never verify this, but I believed my dad.  And, I knew that there was some unspoken hurt that by dad felt about the situation.  He rarely elaborated on his relationship with his family which allowed my overactive imagination to fill in the blanks. 

My dad doesn’t like hearing about my observations about religion and the natural curiosity that developed as a result of being raised without it.  I think he feels guilty in some way, maybe worried that I resent him for my lack of theological education, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.  I appreciate my upbringing which was filled with love and a joy and wonder about the life all around us.  What I learned from my parents is to work hard, love one another, respect and be intrigued by everything and everyone especially those who are different from me for they have much to teach.  They managed to give me a strong enough sense of self to trust the spiritual beliefs that seemed to crop up within me and enough skepticism about any religion  that would otherwise teach me not to trust that internal sense of spirituality.

I remember the last day I saw him.  The day had begun as usual, with me racing through my morning rituals and off to work.  As I pulled into the parking lot, I heard a news story on the radio that someone had recently won the lotto jackpot.  Disappointed, I hurried out of my car.  I was later than usual that morning.  Not a good way to impress the new boss I thought, as I clicked the remote lock on my large, four wheel drive vehicle.  It’s a nice ride, but not what I would have chosen for myself.  This had been my husband’s decision, a practical, safe, family vehicle.  My choice would have been something sexier; maybe a Mercedes or a BMW.  I hadn’t cared all that much until I took a survey on the perfect vehicle for me which had planted the Mercedes idea in my head.   I thought, maybe, if the world is still here at the end of 2012 despite dire predictions that it might not be, I will buy a car that I want.  But if the world might end in a few years, why not buy it now?  I mean if I was going to continue down a path with a job that I didn’t particularly love, I might as well jump on the “uber-consumer” bandwagon and begin to really enjoy the fruits of my labor.  Who cares if I end up in debt up to my eyeballs?  Everyone else is.   

I laughed at my own ridiculous conversation as I made my way into my office.  I mumbled a hello to my newly hired employee, now doing the work that two people with much more experience used to do, a concession I already had to make with my new boss, the recently appointed,  CEO.  My job, like my vehicle was safe, good for the family and boring.  It probably looked great to some, but it didn’t really reflect who I had become and so it had become a heavy burdensome thing that I didn’t know how to escape. 

Little did I know, I was about to be granted my as yet unarticulated, fondest desire for change.  As I charted out my plans for the day, I received a phone call.  The new guy wanted to see me.  I didn’t yet a have a relationship with my new boss.  He seemed nice enough.  He had just given me an unexpected raise, which seemed like a good sign, but I couldn’t get a handle on what kind of guy he was.  He reminded me of a cardboard cutout of someone. I could never tell what was on the other side of his perpetual pose. 

As I scrambled trying to figure out why he wanted to see me, I couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that began to creep into my psyche.   I walked into his perfectly appointed office.  It had been newly redecorated with rich dark wood and leather, complete with a huge flat screen TV.  Fox news quietly droned on behind me as I took a seat.   After a few pleasantries were exchanged, he announced, “We’re laying several people off today due to economic conditions and you’re one of them.” 

Just like that, my world had changed.  I was stunned, literally struck dumb.  My mind raced through the last few weeks trying to find a clue, something I had missed that would indicate that despite all the grand speeches from the man seated before me about a bright future and the need for aggressive marketing, they were eliminating the Vice President of Marketing position.  It didn’t make sense.  He blathered on about severance and letters of recommendation as my brain tried to compute the impact this was going to have on my family.  As I tried to calculate how far nineteen weeks of pay would take me, I tried to maintain my composure.  My brain braced for the onslaught of emotion that began rising from my heart.  But to my surprise, the emotion rising through my body was not, sadness, disappointment, anger, worry – all the emotions I was supposed to be feeling. 

The feeling that was building was one of exaltation.  I wanted to jump on the desk and shout, “Thank you Jesus!”  This was wrong, I knew, but I could hardly contain the joy that was spreading throughout me.  I nodded to answer that I knew what was being said and that I understood my rights.  I got up, doing my best to maintain a blank look on my face.  I concentrated on keeping my feet on the ground for fear that my happiness might carry me off and out the door.  I told myself this was a common reaction, a confusion of emotions, temporary insanity maybe.  Certainly it would subside and be replaced with the true horror I must be feeling.  But the horror never came.  Fear yes, but it was mixed with exhilaration.  The answer to my prayers had come, not in the form of winning the lotto, like I had hoped, but in the form of a great big cosmic shove out the door and on to new opportunities.  I am not a particularly religious person, but on that day, I knew, that God had listened to my heart and answered the prayers that I had been too afraid to articulate. A new chapter in my life had begun.   

So why my ex boss’s face popped into my mind as I searched for an enemy to send my positive thoughts to today, I’m not sure.  My ego still smarts from being laid off, but maybe in my heart of hearts I know that I should be thankful to the guy who “pulled the trigger” because I never would have been brave enough to do it myself.