Medicine

It’s a fine Monday morning. The sun’s out and I got a personal message in my inbox! Feels like a miracle.

It was from Amy. She was the sound engineer at a solo show I did in Connecticut maybe thirty years ago. I don’t remember anything about the gig except her. Women engineers are a rarity in the music business. She was good at her job, too: attentive, considerate, smart, patient, encouraging. We’ve been friends ever since. She was writing me from the parking lot of the Sunflower Natural Foods store in Woodstock, New York where I used to spend a lot of time (and money!). She knew I’d be especially glad to hear from her while she was traveling through; that Woodstock’s still my home in so many ways. I love that about her, too.

Imagining Amy at Sunflower took me back to when Forrest and I would visit Louise in the Rite Aid store that used to be next door. Louise was the cashier. She didn’t disclose her age, but it was something like 85. Every time we walked through the door, Louise would sing out, Forrest, as if she hadn’t seen him in years. He would run around to the back of her counter to give her something he’d found for her, usually a rock. After he died and Louise retired, I went to visit her at home. Her mantle was covered with rocks and pebbles Forrest had given her.

Sometimes when I write about Forrest, I wonder if it might be getting tiresome for people. It’s been twenty-three years after all. But things like Amy’s email take me back to a rich and fertile time in my life, one I love to go back to. Thinking about Louise and Forrest makes me smile. She lit him up. He lit her up. The two of them lit me up. It was exactly what each of us needed.

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New readers may not know that my son Forrest was diagnosed with liver cancer when he was two. He died when he was three-and-a-half. His friendship with Louise began before he was a year-old. His diagnosis came out of the blue and was a shock to everyone, especially Louise. It took her a few weeks before she could see him, but when she was ready, her friendship was medicine.