Monday, June 11, 2018

Remembering A Life

I've been trying to write a eulogy for days and having very little success. A dear friend, who had been my best friend from age four 'til sometime in our 20s, passed away last week after a short but valiant battle with cancer. We had grown apart in the last decade or so, and the last time I saw her was at her wedding in 2010. Since then, we'd talked only a handful of times, and the most recent phone conversation was the one where she announced the cancer diagnosis and terminal prognosis. That news came as my move was getting down to the wire, and I didn't really have the brain space to process it fully, but I made a point of sending her an email every day (or nearly every day -- I missed a few in the whirlwind of life) so she'd know I was thinking about her.

The day came when, several hours after I'd sent my daily greeting, her friend emailed to say she'd passed. I was in the middle of doing something else when I got the message, and again, I put off processing it until later. I knew I couldn't afford to fly down for the service, so I was readying myself to deal with it in small doses over time, which was about all I could manage with the other stressors I'm faced with.

Then another friend made it possible for me to go to the service. That offer was unexpected and heartwarming, and I jumped at it... but it puts a time limit on how far I need to get in the grieving process in order to make it through the service without having a meltdown. So there's work to do.

And I feel like an ass for making it all about me, because that's not the way this is supposed to be... but I'm beyond overwhelmed, and the process of getting through it all is the only thing I can think about unless I force myself to take a little energy from all of that and put it into remembering what a marvelous person she was. And that little bit of energy turns into a massive drain as I connect with the feelings of loss and love and regret and every other complicated, messy bit of it.

Her husband called her an angel, and he's right -- she was the kind of person who exuded and attracted goodness in all its forms. She had her issues and her struggles, and she came through each challenge with a deeper sense of grace and peace than she'd had before. I was struck by the tone of her voice as she talked about her prognosis... I didn't hear sadness or regret or self-pity, I heard acceptance and calmness, and I was in awe. Having known her for so long, I had the privilege of seeing her grow from an awkward, struggling child into a capable, brilliant, joyful woman, and it's bittersweet that the world felt the warmth of that joy for such a short time.

I remember marching with her in the Memorial Day parade, representing our 4-H club. I remember the birthday sleepover she threw for me (because my mother always found reasons not to let me have a party), where we played MarioKart and baked a cake... forgetting to add the milk until the batter was already in the pan. I remember her acidentally knocking over a cup of lemonade in her dorm room and exclaiming, "THIS IS WHY I CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS!!" I remember standing in her grandmother's house, braiding her hair for her as we got ready for the renaissance faire. I remember how radiant she looked at her wedding, and how happy I was that she'd found someone who saw her for who she was and loved her for it.

I remember how she scrunched her eyes when she laughed, how she wagged her hand in front of her before she sneezed, how she never took herself too seriously... and I remember unhappier things, too... but they all made her the brave, loving soul she was. I miss her, and always will.

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