There are some things in life that you can’t explain . . .
Since I was a little girl my father would tell me about his best friend from kindergarten, Harry Cohn. He would talk about him every year on February 16th. The reason he would do this is because we shared the same birthday.
My mom tells the story of the day that I was born and my dad was beaming that his first child was born on his best friend’s birthday!
I had never met Harry despite hearing stories about him every year well into my adulthood. My dad and him kept in touch every year and sent birthday cards to each other and talked a few times to catch up, but that was the extent of my knowing him.
Nine years this April my father passed away. On a piece of paper in my dad’s apartment was Harry’s phone number. I called . . .
I remember where I was standing. I remember the time of day. I remember the unexplainable feeling. I remember the tears. I remember that moment as if it were yesterday.
Harry and I developed an inexplainable friendship. He would travel to Chicago to visit his mother and we would go to dinner. We would catch up on the phone or by text message.
One year turned into another and he became one of the most important people in my life.
In some ways it feels like my father sent him as an angel from the heavens to me.
Harry sends me articles a few times a week mostly about mental health topics I would find interesting about yoga, nature, happiness, etc.
A couple of months ago he sent me an article about “The 7-Day Happiness Challenge” with the New York Times. . . at the bottom of the article there was an invitation for readers to submit entires about a special friendship since part of happiness is about those special people in our life.
For the fun of it, I wrote an entry and submitted it.
Last week I opened my email and there was a note from the New York Times asking to interview Harry and me on a three way call.
And today after I decided to take the week off of writing because what I wanted to share hadn’t totally come to completion, I opened my email to find the article that was written about Harry and me and inspired this post.
Losing my father was sad. I was only 38 years-old.
A few years ago Harry sent me a package with all the birthday and Christmas cards my dad sent to him over the decades.
In the last birthday card my dad sent to Harry he said, “Thanks for being such a good friend all these years.”
Many blessings,
Click here to read the story in the New York Times.
