You had me at goodbye
he important letters are always thin. Thin makes them stand out in a bundle of mail. It is as if they say “read me.”
These include college acceptance letters or their evil twin — rejection letters — a note from a parent or one with test results not necessarily in your favor.
This letter was from my dentist, Shirley Man. She was not informing me that I had been tardy with my twice-a-year cleaning. I had had my teeth cleaned recently and the next appointment was on the calendar.
The letter was dated “October 30, 2021.” Noting the date felt as if the author was setting the stage.
“Dear Cherished Patients and Friends.”
“Cherished” was the tipoff. This letter was headed for Emotional City and we weren’t even into paragraph one yet.
“It hardly seems possible but I graduated from dental school 40 years ago!”
She was reminiscing, looking back and also tying a bow around a career that many of her patients, including me, considered exemplary. She was drawing a line too and the sense was she would be on one side of the line and her patients on the other.
“Shocking, I know. When I first started out, I exuded enthusiasm for dentistry and eagerness to serve my patients.”
You seemed pretty enthusiastic the last time I saw you. You weren’t exactly dragging. I could hear you laughing, that sort of wild funny cackling, from two rooms away.
“I have been truly blessed with a fulfilling profession that I have loved throughout my entire career. While I am still enjoying what I do, the time has come for me to retire.”
I thought we had this talk already. Did you miss my last column? Unless you submit your future plans to the committee — the committee of one — nobody important in my life or who contributes to my overwhelming well-being is allowed to retire, much less die.