[Read time: 3:00]
This update is a bit different. It’s mostly a note to Leah.
While in the hospital again, Leah and I were chatting on the phone. The staff there must get tired of fielding calls from “Gregory,” because I call about five times a day.
Actually, the staff were warned this time, and Leah told them, “Just be advised, my friend Gregory is going to be calling [she had just been admitted], and he is very persistent.”
Like I said, we were chatting, and we do this thing where I have to hang up the phone. So, I say 1, 2, I love you [first name plus middle name—withheld], you’re beautiful, and I am proud of you, 3.” I then said, “I don’t think you understand how much I love you.”
She replied, “Put it in a note and tell me.”
I then said, “[sigh] I’ve done that already.”
“Do it again!”
“That was a brilliant piece of writing! You wouldn’t say to John Lennon, “Hey, that ‘Strawberry Fields’ song wasn’t half bad. Write another one!”
She begins laughing.
I say I will write another one.
She was quite satisfied with this, and we hung up.
This is what I wrote:
The universe rarely does me any favors. But when I met you it certainly did. I can say my life changed. At first, admittedly, my guard was up. I assumed anyone who has a list of mental-health issues, getting close too fast can be destabilizing. Things can get weird; but things never did.
We have been friends for not terribly long. However, we have packed about ten years into that short span. If people talk to a friend once a month, that’s twelve times a year. Double that, it’s 24. Once a week: that’s 52. Twice a week: that’s just over a hundred. If you and I continue on our present course, you and I will average 2,232 times a year.
We agreed that Michael is my best friend. And so I have decided that you are my “super-duper, stupendous friend.” You’re not crazy about this—I believe you asked if I was in fourth grade—but I suspect it will grow on you. Like when I started calling you “Cuckoo Bird.” You recently asked me, “Why did you stop calling me that??” I really thought you didn’t like it. I predict it will go back into rotation.
I recently have had a hard time with your suffering. When you bottom out, are weepy, whimper, begin blaming yourself, talk of being done with the fight, I’m a wreck. The thought of waking up in a world without you in it is an unbearable one.
You have changed my life. You are kind. Your moral compass is precise. You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. When it comes to the particulars of your daily demands [which I cannot go into here] you are dedicated and great at them. I am just happier when I am talking to you, bickering, goofing around. These things make me happy. You make me happy. I know it sounds trite and banal, but life before you is something of a blur.
We have so much to do, but I am so proud of your progress and what you’ve achieved in such a short time: you’re stronger, you’re more confident, you’re more developed, you’re more refined, you’re beginning to intellectually blossom. I laugh and adore that you have all these really serious books, just everywhere: Plato, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Dostoevsky, Adam Smith. Who has those books, period?? You not only have them, but are always reading them, and just have them lying about everywhere! I’ve never seen anything like it.
As mentioned, we have a lot to do. First stop: the Art Institute. You’ve been warned: I am annoying when I’m in there. (“You’re annoying everywhere,” I can hear you saying.) Despite my tendencies, it’s going to be grand.
The years ahead of us are also going to be grand, because I will have you in them.
I love you. You’re beautiful. I’m proud of you. And I believe in you.
Photo: Leah has an unbelievable collection of various retiles, fish, a python for a time; it’s crazy. This is Onyx. She’s a bearded dragon. She’s in a basket. Not sure why.
