I waited with bated breath for his response, nervous that I may have gone too far and offended him, excited that doing so might help me achieve my goal of saving him. Finally, the message arrived: “Honey, I’m taking vacation time for the rest of the day to take one of my Make-a-Wish kids, Michael, shopping for some things that will make his transition easier. My positive thoughts will not bring back his leg or make the cancer that pervades his body go away. In my mind, though, every drop of rain that falls today anywhere near us will contain water molecules that look like beautiful snowflakes. How do I know that? I don’t. Of course I don’t. I can’t see water molecules; never have — at least not firsthand. Seen pictures of ’em. So, since I can’t really see them, I can imagine that they are in any shape I so desire. Some of them even look like Sophia Loren, in my parallel Universe. I like it there (here); no, I LOVE it in my parallel space. It works incredibly well for me. I am in the flow and the ride couldn’t be any easier because I just ‘let it go.’ Barb, out beyond the ideas of rightdoing or wrongdoing there is a field — I’ll meet you there. I’m there, Honey, holding out my hand. Take it when you are ready. Ciao Bella! Love, Dad.”
Consumed by my mission, I had broken my life’s creed: Don’t tell me how to live my life and I won’t tell you how to live yours. Dad responded to his daughter’s audacious attack with patience and wisdom. Staring at my father’s words on my laptop screen was like gazing into a mirror through which I could see the disfigurement of my own soul. As I read his words over and over, a secret was revealed to me, one that Dad had known all along: I still have a lot to learn.