Reunited Twice

In 2014, I flew from St. Paul, Minnesota to Berkeley, California to visit my dying aunt. We had spoken weekly but had only seen each other a few times. I was lucky to arrive on her last lucid day. As her closest relative, I was asked to oversee her care.

While holding vigil and meeting her friends, I got a voicemail from my childhood next-door neighbor. “I have news about Eric,” she said. Eric had been our mutual best friend growing up. When I called back, she told me, “Eric is now Erica.” I said, “OK, give me her number.” Then she added, “She’s in Oakland.” I said, “I’m in Berkeley.”

I called Erica, told her I loved her, and said I was on College Avenue. She replied, “I’m a mile away.”

We met for dinner that night. It was overwhelming, in the best way. A second California synchronicity between us. The first had happened years earlier, when I flew to an Adult Children of Alcoholics conference in Hollywood. There were 600 people in the room. I was feeling distracted when my eyes landed on someone in the doorway. Eric. He was the conference host. We hugged and had dinner with his family that night.

This time, the reunion stuck. Erica now lives 20 minutes away in Minnesota. We talk every week, meet for meals, and share a deep connection that has never faded.

You can’t make this stuff up.