Dear Lindsay,

   You’re confused right now, unsure of where you’re headed and what your calling is. I know this because I’ve been there, in your shoes; I know what it’s like, the uncertainty, the overwhelming responsibility that comes crashing down over your head when you realize what you’ve been called to do.

   I suppose I should apologize, because I’m partly to blame. My name is Gary Hobson; you might remember me, or you might not, because you were a young child the first and only time we met. I gave you a pocketknife; such an innocent gift, but such a monumental impact.

   Perhaps I chose you, as I had already been chosen by the one before me and he had been chosen by the one before him, or perhaps we were all chosen by some other force, whatever mystery governs this “gift” we receive. Either way, Lindsay, you can be angry with me if it makes you feel better. I suppose I am at least partly to blame.

   If you are reading this letter, that means I’m probably already dead. If it all becomes too much to handle and you feel like you can’t talk to anyone, head on down to a bar called McGinty’s and ask for Marissa Brown or Chuck Fishman. If either of them is still around, they’ll understand; they have stuck loyally with me throughout the years, through everything I’ve had to face. They will want to talk to you, to know how you’re getting along.

   You will have hard times, Lindsay — you will be hurt and you will be scared and you will have people look at you like you’re crazy. Throughout it all, remember only this: you were chosen because you care, because you are able to provide hope in a world that is sometimes sadly devoid of that very thing. There will be times when you don’t think you will ever be able to face another day, but I trust that you will get through it. If you ever need to vent, just talk to the cat — he’s a good listener so long as you give him plenty of tuna.

   Legacies get passed down generation to generation, and with them, words — words I was given when I needed them most, and words that I hope will offer you comfort:

   “You, of all people, know how fragile life is. So, somewhere between the pages of our newspaper, Lindsay Romick, find time to live it.”

G.H.

Email the author: eternallyfaithful@juno.com
 

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