To Those Who Know Who You Are (And Anyone Else I'm Forgetting)

I hope this brisk Autumn Sunday evening finds you in good spirits and eager anticipation for the coming week. I'm sitting here at Bethany's dining room table enduring the overwhelming aroma of multicolored Sharpies, each a tool in her flashcard shop where she's building a studio of Veterinary knowledge inside her uber-absorbent head. But that's neither here nor there. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you, as humbly as words can, for joining in the celebration of my mother's 17 hours of pain. Indeed that day 26 years ago was an eye-opening experience for me. Literally. But if you would have told me 26 years ago that I'd have 25 friends get together, join their financial forces and creative minds to put together a surprise dinner and raise a bike fund I would have cried. But that's what babies do. If you would have told me 16 years ago, I would have asked you how much they gave me and why it wasn't more. But that's what 10 year old spoiled brats do. If you would have told me 6 years ago, I would have asked if I could use the money for groceries instead. But that's what poor college students do. If you would have told me 6 minutes before I got there, you would have ruined the surprise and nobody likes a party pooper. However, the ruined surprise wouldn't have mattered because I still wouldn't have believed you (besides, someone almost did that anyway). I wouldn't believe that there's anything I could have done to deserve that - and I don't even mean the money. For even one person to set aside time to celebrate a special day with you is more than enough and better than any gift. For many to join you - some traveling far, others sacrificing much, the rest not so much - evokes a feeling only comprehensible by experience. To put it more concisely, thank you for the experience.