Posted by Duff

As odd as it sounds, I would like to thank my father for smoking for seventeen years. Because if he hadn’t, the following series of events may not have occured:

He may never have gotten sick.

I wouldn’t have moved back to my hometown and rented an apartment upstairs from my soon-to-be friend Sarah.

He may not have passed away.

And as a result, I may not have been forced to take a long, hard look at myself and become a less self-involved and a more positively motivated person.

So I wouldn’t have been strong enough to:

Resist my so-crazy-he-was-crizazy-ex who tried to get back together with me. Because I had never resisted him before.

And I wouldn’t have been done with him when Sarah asked me to go out with her to help keep her Romantically Interested Gentleman Friend at bay

So I wouldn’t have been standing where I was in the bar when my future husband was walking by

And  I wouldn’t have been standing where I was when a very drunk Irishman grabbed my hand and told me I would buy him a whiskey

So I wouldn’t have grabbed onto my future husband as I was dragged by him and said, “Pretend you know me?”

And he wouldn’t have pretended to know me long enough for the Irishman to lose interest.

And the randomness of this meeting might not have made it easy for us to talk like real people who had nothing to lose.

And we may not have talked like real people with nothing to lose.

And I may not have been exactly who I was, and he may not have been exactly who he was.

And we may not have understood that we were two people who were in the right place at the right time.

And we may have been able to go our separate ways.

But we did understand, and we didn’t go our separate ways.

So, as much as I miss you for no particular reason right now, Dad, I appreciate your sacrifice, because I couldn’t have gotten here without it.

And I’d also like to thank the couple in Texas, now divorced, who happened to get married the weekend I met my husband. Because although it seems unrelated, that temporary union was the first in a string of seemingly unconnected but necessary events which had to happen so he and I would be in that right place at that right time.

So ultimately (after several more years of happenstance), we could bring forth The Dervish, who at any other time or born to any two other parents, might not have been the person she is.

And she is someone who is trying the both of us until we are whittled down to a couple of those dolls made of shriveled apples you see at county fairs, and there must be a reason for this, and that reason will be of use to someone, somewhere.

Even if it’s not her parents, today.