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It seems that since I made a firm decision to heal, the healers are coming out of the woodwork in many forms. There was the healing lesson I learned from my cat, Fenix and the reunification with my father after a lifetime of separation. Then there were the doves that decided to nest right near my bedroom window.

The latest healer came to me yesterday. He tracked me down at Ralph’s grocery store near the butter refrigerator and made sure that I received his message of healing.

It started off innocent enough. I was holding my roller skates and helmet in my hand as I picked up a few items at the store. A man came up and asked me a bit about rollerskating and then told me about how he’s lost a bunch of weight lately in preparation for his high school reunion.

I’ve been studying A Course in Miracles lately so I was friendly with the man, knowing that everyone is my brother and that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps the man sensed it because within moments he was telling me very personal information about his life. The told me about the crack cocaine, the homelessness and the speed balls. He told me about the drug rehab, his run-ins with the police and his near-death experience. He told me about his six years of sobriety and the people he’s connected with in his 12-step meetings.

He put down his bananas and milk so he could gesture freely and I watched him with wonder. He was not the least bit scary or threatening, he was clearly happy and amazingly healthy based on what he’s been through.

Part of my wonder was, why me? Why was he telling me, a complete stranger all of these intimate details of his life? How did he know I would listen and understand his story? Why is it that many of my own drug and alcohol students assume I don’t know a thing about what it feels like to be an addict whereas this stranger acted as if I was a fellow traveler. He never once explained what an 8-ball was and he didn’t edit himself when he talked about his “pipe” or the “dopeman”. He didn’t even hold back his street language. It’s like he knew that I knew what he was talking about. And I do. But I didn’t interupt him to tell him so. I just kept listening.

It was then that he told me about a healing journey he took on the Amtrack to see his family in San Diego. He told me about the many years that he had disappeared from their lives because of drugs and incarceration and the pain it caused. Then, he ended with his take home message. When he did, I knew exactly why he chose me as the person to spill the beans to and I knew why I needed to hear him out to the end. In so many words he said, “you know, making amends isn’t about getting right with the dopeman or any of that stuff, it’s about getting reconnected with the people who matter, it’s about making it right with your family.”

I said out loud, as if talking to God, “I get it”. Then I told the man, “thank you”. It was only when he picked up his bananas and milk and began to walk away that he asked my name and then after shaking my hand he said, “my name is Gabriel.” I said, “I get it” again, this time to myself and with an inner smile of awe and wonder, I walked away, trying to remember why I came to the store in the first place and I realized that the butter and the bread were only a cover-up for a much more important mission; to remember once again to forgive, the only true path to healing.