I summon the courage to leash myself to a phone line, clipping the curtailed wire to my scarf and get on my best “I am a state agent” voice as I answer calls. This being day two of living life like Freyda Perrl it isn’t very bad. I’ve noticed I’m smiling more, judging less and kicking my feet whenever I get excited. So far I have made excellent efforts at living life like I was nearly six months old.
*Ring* Ring* … “call from Claims” comes the automated voice. I run through my introduction to find the gentleman on the other end is a retired State Trooper – a man whom I know personally. He has answered many a call from me with my residence being in his jurisdiction and luck of him being on the other end of my cries for assistance. Keep in mind this was during a time when domestic situations were a daily occurrence; some violent, most heart-breaking, and many of them involving a very young, innocent boy.
In any event, I verify his call and then cross into a “Hey, I know you!” conversation. I explain who I am and my recollection of him as he banters back and forth reminiscing on who I might be as he can’t see my face. He remembered and gasps with a, “I have been looking for you!” Thirty-four years on the job with every level of perpetrator in his crosshairs of justice, and he has been looking for me?
“I’ve looked for you,” he exclaims. “You were here and then, all of a sudden, you were gone. I would go to where you used to work and describe you because I couldn’t remember your name. No one would give me any information as to your whereabouts, so I figured they were protecting you because of how violent your ex was. But here you are.”
We followed up our conversation with me wishing him luck with his new endeavors and him congratulating me for getting out alive.
There really are angels out there, masquerading as regular people yet serving to protect others. He must have impacted the ebb and flow of my life – like the butterfly effect – at points outside my call to my fellow NYS agency. There is no way that he could not have. Investment of energy, even of thinking; is impacting another person’s life. And only now, almost a decade later do I find out that he was quite significant to me being where I am today. He has had some impact on my health, most-definitely my mental well-being and maybe even my survival.
My birthday being a few days ago, and at the commencement of reaching thirty-three the thought occurred to me that Jesus was sacrificed at thirty-three. An awakening that maybe I had not accomplished all that I set out to do at 18 – not nearly as much as Jesus had done by this age. Hysteria of having my life to this point marked with a large, red “F” took hold and I froze. My thoughts stayed only in that thread…what have you done? What do you aspire to do?
…to help, to feed and nourish, to aide and support, to encourage, assist and fight for those I love; for the under-represented, the discouraged and the sad. To change fear to strength and work from the inside-out while making the outside shine. That is what I want to do. But how? What does that all mean? On a higher level of understanding, I feel that I have done that; am doing that - particularly after processing my phone call. I have expended energy, love and care toward those that encircle my life. Still, it is not enough. I am ravaged by this urge to do what I am, not just be what I do.
Drawn. I am drawn to a calling not yet found.
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