Thank you to the friends in the social media cyberspace sphere. Thank you for crossing my path in a time where the technology to cross paths exists, especially those of you on the other side of the world. Thank you for sharing your lives with me.

Thank you life, even on those days I think you’re trying to break me. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Thanks for not killing me just yet.

Thank you to all the medical people who brought my mother through her recent surgery. Enough said.

Thank you to whoever invented music so long ago, and for those practicing the art today. Sometimes the music is the only way to keep the day going.

Thanks universe for keeping me here sometimes in spite of my sleep disorder.

Just, thanks. Happy Thanksgiving.

I’ll miss him.

And do it out loud. It makes life less complicated. And you look less stupid.

Thank you. We now return to your movie already in progress. The flight attendants will be by with peanuts shortly.

The first night of his stay, the doctors decided around 11 o’clock that surgery was going to be necessary to drain the infection. My wife Miriam, who was at the hospital with Ethan, called to let me know that they were going to prep and that we would be out of touch until the surgery was over.

I was home with our other son, Owen. I let him know what was going on. Then I was suddenly overwhelmed. I basically had no one to talk to, and I would have no idea what was going on until it was over. So I played some music. It helped, but I still cried.

The musician is on Twitter. And so sitting there in the middle of the night, I sent a direct message to the musician about what was going on, and how the music helped me manage my feelings.

I really didn’t expect an answer. It was just me reaching out, because reaching out to someone helped my mindset when I felt bleak. I did get a reply a few hours later, wishing us courage, comfort, and good luck that all would be well.

Which of course it was, in the end. There was no surgery; a heavy round of antibiotics did the trick. But the experience of reaching out, not exactly randomly in terms of destination, but randomly in the sense of not knowing if the communication would be two-way or not, and being reached back toward in return, was a moment I still treasure.

I’ve told this story to just a few people, and even among them I haven’t always named the musician. I also haven’t named the musician here, although I’m not completely sure why and keep pondering the reason as I write. Perhaps it’s for the artist’s privacy, even though it really wouldn’t be hard to figure out who it is. Perhaps it’s for my own – holding on to this small treasure of a moment. Perhaps it’s just in appreciation of that reach back to me in the night when I needed it – a moment of kindness that deserves to be celebrated, not publicized. I guess that’s privacy too. Can you tell I’m figuring this out as I go along?

In any event, it was a wonderful experience, on a night where I never imagined that wonderful would be an adjective that would apply in any way. I wanted to be sure not to forget it and forget the emotion it stirred. Thus I blog.