Two weeks out from the Great OE, and my thoughts have wandered off into history, exposing loose ends that have probably needed addressing for decades.
One of those is a Thank you never expressed, and now 41-years overdue. Clearly unfinished business. But so much easier to let it sleep, avoiding embarrassment all round.
Then again, if I heard he had died, I would regret not having ever said ‘Thank you’. And what’s the worst that could happen? At the risk of appearing weird, I set out to find him.
Thank goodness for internet! Finding him on a company site was helped by his fairly distinctive name; there can’t be too many Edgar V.. d… D…’s in the world.
My first three draft emails looked awfully like a Nigerian stalker. ‘I need to make contact’ or worse… ‘dear friend from the past.’
Then there was the issue of how to get Edgar’s attention without breaching his privacy. The company’s generic email address forced a public approach. Despite my best efforts, the eventual email still looked a bit dodgy, thus sent with crossed fingers.
A few hours later, and an email…. ‘hello?’
That’s all. Probably wise. I imagined him considering how to respond to what could be a scam.
Contact achieved, I thought writing the ‘Thank you’ itself would be easy. But how much to say? Let’s face it; he probably doesn’t remember me, and certainly won’t recall his words which changed the course of my life.
The rantings of a drama queen drowning in the depths of appreciation was quickly replaced by drafts rejected as too official, brief or appearing expectant of some response.
Thank you’s are funny things. They run to a pattern. The person being thanked is either left compelled to brush their action off as nothing special, or forced to reflect that the receiver of their good action somehow deserved it.
I needed words which not only required no response, but also avoided invading Edgar’s life.
In the end, the email expressed my gratitude in simple terms, and let Edgar know the life-changing consequences his words all those years ago had engendered. I hope he takes it exactly as meant.
So why now?
When I was 21, the lure of the great OE had me in it’s grasp, underlined by disillusionment with my own country, the church, and life in general. After my Father’s death two years earlier, I had been unceremoniously split from my family, leaving me loose and lost; escape became the only beacon.
Packing my life into a backpack, I bought an open ticket to Australia and announced I was off, never coming back.
Many tried to talk me out of it, for reason’s based on their fear’s of the world, or wanting to keep me in their clutches. Apparently God wouldn’t approve. Edgar’s acceptance and support breathed fresh air over my determination.
He did challenge me though. It wasn’t a loud nudge, but more of a quiet dare.
‘If you really are leaving NZ, and never coming back, shouldn’t you take one last look at your own country first?’
On my last night in Wellington, he took me out for a lovely dinner, then dropped me off to the ferry which sailed for Picton a couple of hours later. Thus began a six month adventure around the South island, culminating in re-meeting an old flame who would soon become my life partner.
41 years ago I never got to leave NZ’s shores for the great OE but that fades into oblivion when compared to family, friends and thoroughly satisfying memories laid since.
Now, just two weeks out from my great OE, it’s clearly the right time to say:
Thank you Edgar.
Stories for you - Enjoy! 