I attended an event last week where I expected to only know a handful of people. I typically do better in what could be an uncomfortable setting when I have a buddy with me, someone who's got my back and can help me just relax and mingle as myself. Unfortunately, this week's event was the memorial service for the very woman who has helped me feel at ease in the past.
One of my dearest friends for the last 17 years passed away earlier this month. We knew that it would happen within a few weeks, so it wasn't exactly sudden or unexpected. But it was certainly more sudden than any of us would have liked. I suppose the death of a loved one usually takes place before you want it to. This one just feels like it hit us way before we were ready.
Sure, I've attended funerals before. I've lost family members like everyone else. A cousin's daughter died at the age of 2 many years ago; my dad's been gone six years; other relatives have all been of an age where you knew the time was near. And I've gone to services for the family of friends. I think you want to support those you care about by honoring the ones they've lost.
But this one feels different. It hits so much closer to my heart.
I've been friends with her for a third of my life. I'd say "best" friends, but who can honestly pick just one friend to be at the top of your list? She had lots (and lots) of friends, but we were a group of three that had so much in common and grew to understand each other on so many levels. I truly imagined us to one day be three gray-haired wrinkly ladies getting together for Sunday brunch at least once a month ad infinitum.
I can't even begin to adequately describe what sort of woman she was. So, in no particular order, I'm just going to randomly give you a glimpse of the friendship we had.
The three of us did so much together. We shared beverages, from margaritas to Bloody Marys and wine to coffee. We traveled together, though they were just little weekend jaunts (see my posts "Weekend, Schmeekend" and "Staunch Women"). We raised our kids together, whether that meant getting advice, or babysitting, or living vicariously through the one daughter in the bunch. We ate "frogs" and wove tapestries of memories, and it didn't matter if nobody else understood quite what that meant. We rang in lots of new years in each other's company, honoring the old and welcoming the new. We celebrated our achievements and circled the wagons around each other when we needed support (see "Rescue Me"). We joked about spelling, grammar, and punctuation, agreeing to disagree on the Oxford comma. We were entertained by David Cassidy and by Craig Ferguson (two separate events, a decade apart). We had so much in common, while still remaining unique (see "Three Peas in a Pod"). When you found us together, whether in a kitchen, on a deck, in a restaurant, or at a borrowed condo, you might find laughter (see "An Inside Joke") or you might find tears. You would always find conversation. You would always find sharing. And you would always find love.
I noted above that she had lots of friends. During the final weeks, I don't know that their house was ever empty. There were people stopping by for stories and giggles and tears and good-byes. They came from down the street and from across the country. I'm glad I was also able to spend more time with them when the time was drawing near. Honestly, that's not much different than an average day in her life. Their home has always been warm and welcoming. I was in awe of, but not surprised by, the amount of support that surrounded them when it was most needed. While I expect many of us have some friends for this activity, and another group of friends for that other activity, these people encouraged the intermingling of those groups. I've met some fabulous people through her and her husband over the years, some of whom I now call friends. It was clear at her memorial service how many people shared a common love for this one uncommon woman.
She's been gone for a few weeks now, and it still doesn't feel right that I can't just text or call or drop in when something makes me think of her. I jotted down a few thoughts when we knew that her time was coming (see "Because You Were Here" and "A Tapestry of Memories"). But I'd been putting off this post because I felt I could never adequately honor what she has meant to me.
In a way, that's how many of our get-togethers ended. One of us would realize, "Well, I s'pose I should get going now." Then, the conversation would continue for an additional 15...30...60 minutes before we would actually leave. All good things must come to an end, and that end always seems to come too soon.
This Thanksgiving, I can be sad and angry that she is gone. But I will remind myself that she brought much joy to my life and the lives of so many others. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a friend so dear. I am thankful that I got to share so much living with her.
I don't want to say good bye. But now, my dear, I s'pose it is time.
One of my dearest friends for the last 17 years passed away earlier this month. We knew that it would happen within a few weeks, so it wasn't exactly sudden or unexpected. But it was certainly more sudden than any of us would have liked. I suppose the death of a loved one usually takes place before you want it to. This one just feels like it hit us way before we were ready.
Sure, I've attended funerals before. I've lost family members like everyone else. A cousin's daughter died at the age of 2 many years ago; my dad's been gone six years; other relatives have all been of an age where you knew the time was near. And I've gone to services for the family of friends. I think you want to support those you care about by honoring the ones they've lost.
But this one feels different. It hits so much closer to my heart.
I've been friends with her for a third of my life. I'd say "best" friends, but who can honestly pick just one friend to be at the top of your list? She had lots (and lots) of friends, but we were a group of three that had so much in common and grew to understand each other on so many levels. I truly imagined us to one day be three gray-haired wrinkly ladies getting together for Sunday brunch at least once a month ad infinitum.
I can't even begin to adequately describe what sort of woman she was. So, in no particular order, I'm just going to randomly give you a glimpse of the friendship we had.
The three of us did so much together. We shared beverages, from margaritas to Bloody Marys and wine to coffee. We traveled together, though they were just little weekend jaunts (see my posts "Weekend, Schmeekend" and "Staunch Women"). We raised our kids together, whether that meant getting advice, or babysitting, or living vicariously through the one daughter in the bunch. We ate "frogs" and wove tapestries of memories, and it didn't matter if nobody else understood quite what that meant. We rang in lots of new years in each other's company, honoring the old and welcoming the new. We celebrated our achievements and circled the wagons around each other when we needed support (see "Rescue Me"). We joked about spelling, grammar, and punctuation, agreeing to disagree on the Oxford comma. We were entertained by David Cassidy and by Craig Ferguson (two separate events, a decade apart). We had so much in common, while still remaining unique (see "Three Peas in a Pod"). When you found us together, whether in a kitchen, on a deck, in a restaurant, or at a borrowed condo, you might find laughter (see "An Inside Joke") or you might find tears. You would always find conversation. You would always find sharing. And you would always find love.
I noted above that she had lots of friends. During the final weeks, I don't know that their house was ever empty. There were people stopping by for stories and giggles and tears and good-byes. They came from down the street and from across the country. I'm glad I was also able to spend more time with them when the time was drawing near. Honestly, that's not much different than an average day in her life. Their home has always been warm and welcoming. I was in awe of, but not surprised by, the amount of support that surrounded them when it was most needed. While I expect many of us have some friends for this activity, and another group of friends for that other activity, these people encouraged the intermingling of those groups. I've met some fabulous people through her and her husband over the years, some of whom I now call friends. It was clear at her memorial service how many people shared a common love for this one uncommon woman.
She's been gone for a few weeks now, and it still doesn't feel right that I can't just text or call or drop in when something makes me think of her. I jotted down a few thoughts when we knew that her time was coming (see "Because You Were Here" and "A Tapestry of Memories"). But I'd been putting off this post because I felt I could never adequately honor what she has meant to me.
In a way, that's how many of our get-togethers ended. One of us would realize, "Well, I s'pose I should get going now." Then, the conversation would continue for an additional 15...30...60 minutes before we would actually leave. All good things must come to an end, and that end always seems to come too soon.
This Thanksgiving, I can be sad and angry that she is gone. But I will remind myself that she brought much joy to my life and the lives of so many others. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a friend so dear. I am thankful that I got to share so much living with her.
I don't want to say good bye. But now, my dear, I s'pose it is time.
