The Doppelgänger

The other day, I received a visitation from Tim LaFollette in the form of his doppelgänger, a man named Kenneth whose friends call him "Peanut."

I was standing at the customer service desk at Planet Care talking with my co-worker.  I had been feeling agitated by recent manifestations in the health of my body.  I found myself sucked into a maze of self inquiry, wondering what my body needs to be well and what I need to be happy and wouldn't my happiness aid my body's health and what are all the strange dreams I've been having lately trying to tell me and on and on.

Then suddenly, I looked up at this man, whose face so resembled my friend, Tim.  The style of glasses he wore, the way he smiled, the jubilance in his eyes, even his voice were eerily similar to those of Tim.  My heart leapt.  I think I actually gasped.  The urge to rush over to this man and throw my arms around him was overwhelming.  Yet I held myself in check, reminding myself that Tim is dead.  And one can no longer receive visitations from one's friends once those friends have checked out.  But this awareness and the presence of Tim's doppelgänger served only to disorient me.

After a moment of staring at this man, I apologized to him and told him that he reminded me of a friend.  He said he gets that a lot.  All the time, he said.  He said people always tell him that he resembles someone they know and love.  He said a man once pulled a photo out of his wallet to show him how much he looked like a friend of his.

I said, "You must have some mission on this planet, some great responsibility, to remind people of what is important."  I said that because that is what he did for me.  He said, "I guess."  And he tilted his head and smiled a golden Tim LaFollette smile and I wanted to weep.

After Peanut left, my co-worker and I looked at each other and shivered inside ourselves.  My co-worker said, "You know, I don't believe in reincarnation or any of that sort of thing.  But if I did, I would swear that was your friend, Tim."  I wanted to collapse into a fit of tears.  But I was at work.  Dealing with the public.  A few tears had to escape.  And as I returned to my work station I could not hold back the few others that had heated in the tear factory and stung my cheek upon release. My co-worker came over and put his arm around me and said, "You know, maybe that was a message from Tim.  Maybe he's trying to tell you something."

I long to talk to Tim right now.  I want to hear him.  I want him to tell me to stop being a wimp.  There's important stuff to be done.  Just do it.  I want to hear him say, "Fuck ALS.  Fuck Cancer.  Fuck ITP."  I want to bask in his bravery.  I want some of it.  I want to fight like Tim.  I want to stand up for what's right like Tim.

If Tim LaFollette were to look at me in this moment, what would he say to me?  Would he shake me?  Would he say, "Get over yourself?"  I think more than anything Tim would say to me, "Whatever it is that you want to do, do it."

And that is what I am doing.  Right now.  In your honor, Dear Heart.