One of my most selfish moments was not visiting Polly for nearly a month. I was going through a break up, experiencing work changes, and having one hell of a pity party. Meanwhile, Polly sat patiently in her room, reading her trashy love novels, undergoing breathing treatments, and sleeping. During week four of my absence I received a call:
“Mr. Butler, Polly requested that someone call you as she assumed you had, um, well, died. Her words, not mine.”
“Um, no, I’m fine, is everything ok with Polly”?
I didn’t even hear her answer—the selfish truth was too busy slapping me hard across the face. I had abandoned my friend and she couldn’t fathom how I would be so selfish. Therefore, I must have died.
When I entered the room she looked up from her book and gave a huge sigh: “THANK GOD you’re not dead. I read last week in the newspaper that a man was mauled to death by a bear while camping. It happened about the time you normally come to see me, and I know you like camping, so I was so worried when you didn’t show up! I was like, what an awful way to go – killer bears!”
I couldn’t help but laugh, though at the same time, admitting I was too busy and just forgot, was far worse than a bear attack.
In November of 2016 I took Polly bear hunting in Colorado (well, more like bear gazing, but still risky). It was my way of saying that I was sorry for being a selfish jerk that one time. And that I would never forget again.