Grey cat with blue eyes



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Grey cat with blue eyes

Sunday, March 31, 2012

Yesterday, I wrote a note to the people who came up to my table to say hello. It was a note that expressed my love and gratitude to them for letting me be a part of their lives. It was a way for them to tell me how much they appreciated all the efforts I've put into writing for them.

Then, I went to do the shopping and bought some groceries for lunch. I was about to go and look for a parking spot, when I remembered what I wrote. This is what I wrote:

To my best clients.

Dear Friends, I remember how you sat with me and told me you wanted to write a children's book. You remember how I shared with you the story of my friend, Ms. Frita, who told me about her dream of writing a children's book. You remember how I said that I would support you in any way I could to make that dream come true. And you remember how when you finished your book, you gave me the copyright so I could publish it.

I remember how I looked through your book, and when I read the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I was surprised to see the same words I wrote for Ms. Frita's story.

I remember how Ms. Frita's children told me they loved your book. I remember how the school teachers called and told me about how they used the book in their lessons. And I remember how a young boy who saw your book read it and said it was the best thing he'd ever read. I remember how he told his parents that they should read your book too, so they could see what he saw in it.

I remember all of the teachers, parents and children, who told me about how they loved your book. And I remember all of the teachers who told me how they had to re-read the story to their kids. I remember how everyone wanted me to come back to school and see the kids read it. I remember how one woman cried as she said how much she loved your book. And I remember how one teacher called and told me that it was the best thing anyone had ever done for her child.

I remember how I took your book on a field trip, so everyone could read it. I remember how I brought your book to church and I invited everyone to read it and enjoy it. And I remember how everyone enjoyed the book, and they wanted to hear it again and again.

And now I remember how every time I see Ms. Frita, I want to tell her what a wonderful job she did.

I remember how we met for dinner and I shared with her how you'd invited her to be my guest on my podcast. I remember how she cried when she heard how you'd told me she was important to you.

I remember how she told me how proud she was of your book and how she told me that it meant a lot to her and her family.

And I remember how I thanked her for all she did for you and your family.

And now I remember how you brought her picture and I remember how she'd told me about your daughter.

I remember how I heard you were on a mission. I remember how Ms. Frita said she was proud of you. I remember how she told me you and your wife would be coming soon.

And I remember how she shared your stories and how I shared some of mine. And how we were on a journey.

And now I remember her face. I remember your daughter. I remember how you made her laugh. I remember how you told me that she was beautiful.

And now I remember that we are part of each other. That we share stories. That we are a family.

Ms. Frita, I'm very sorry for your loss and I'm sorry that you had to go through this.

I remember when I went into the room after you left and I saw the portrait of your daughter there. I remembered your daughter too.

Thank you for everything.

This post is dedicated to Ms. Frita. The memory and heartache she carries in her heart is a burden she carried with her to her final day. I pray that one day she'll be able to put her burdens down and find peace. For now, this is a memory of her and how she inspired us with her dignity and strength.

You wrote: "I remember her face. I remember your daughter. I remember how you made her laugh. I remember how you told me that she was beautiful."

My friend, I was moved by your thoughtfulness and caring that you gave to Ms. Frita. Thank you for your kindness, it was not in vain. She knew she was a part of your family and she will now be able to be a part of ours. You made her smile and laugh so much more than she ever wanted. You made her happy and she always knew it. You showed her the love she never had.

Thank you for sharing her.

I've been trying to write a blog post about our trip to Puerto Rico but I can't seem to concentrate. Instead, here's a story that was told to me by my friend, Ms. Frita.

Ms. Frita, this is dedicated to you. It's a love letter. We may have not met in this life, but you left such an impression that when the time comes, we'll meet again and then we'll know that you were the person who gave us this. Thank you.

You said: "When I was your age, I was raised to respect and obey my father. I did that for twenty-one years. But one day, one single day, I woke up and thought, ‘Why should I follow a rule that I created?’

That day I left his house. My husband and my sons were upset, of course, but I don’t think they realized that they would never see me again. I went back to my apartment and there, just there in the back of my apartment, I wrote the first line of my story “I’m leaving my home to go away and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Now there are only a few more lines, just a few. But before that I wrote one line, just one line that says: ‘I need a divorce.’ But you see, in all the world, divorce was still something out of the Middle Ages. What did it mean? I knew what I wanted to do, but still I needed a divorce to get there. So for nine years, I waited until my youngest son became an adult. He was still a


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