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My friend died. Its been a few months now, but in the process of grieving, that is not a long time.
In my life, I haven't lost a lot of friends, so this path is a bit uneasy for me. Yet, with this loss, as with the others I've experienced, I can't help but first be grateful for the gift of a unique and wonderful life. I miss her laugh, her visits and telephone calls that always began with "hello sweetie." I miss singing at the top of our lungs to old time rock and roll, dressing up at Halloween and driving around at Christmas to look at the lights.
This was my friend with whom I shared most of my life, from early childhood to well into my 50s. My friend with whom I slugged through adolescence, and dared and dreamed a brief bit of our twenties. Ultimately our differences tore us apart and there was a long period of separation of our daily lives. We did not separate ourselves out of hatred or disdain, we simply recognized we had become very different people from the girls who played a pick up game of softball with the neighborhood kids, swam endlessly in the backyard pools, rode our bikes, and walked around the block together. The simplicity of our youth had faded and the reality of life was settling. We had different lives, different priorities, different views, different goals. For the most part we respected each other's differences and simply cherished the shrinking child inside the budding adult.
My thoughts have floated to memories of my friend lately and I realized so clearly how she was, in all her beauty and in all her darkness, a personification of divine love. She was created in the image of the divine, she devoutly loved every living being, she sought to comfort another when she found them aching. She bore her own sadness as well as that of others, but even her own sadness was a visceral response to some inequity or hardship confronting those she loved. It was her sincere and compelling desire for a living being to experience happiness, good health and well-being, and to be aware someone loved them regardless of what they may have done or what may have been done to them. If they were hurting, she was hurting.
It's saddens me that I did not grasp this true beauty of her being until after her death. Often, people find fault either with self or the dead once they are gone (I wish I had... if only... why did I/he/she/it?... ad nauseam). I could wade through that darkness, but her fragile heart has already examined the nuances of this life's inequity and it need not be done again. I'm choosing to see the beauty she shared with us, and it was abundant.
In my life, I haven't lost a lot of friends, so this path is a bit uneasy for me. Yet, with this loss, as with the others I've experienced, I can't help but first be grateful for the gift of a unique and wonderful life. I miss her laugh, her visits and telephone calls that always began with "hello sweetie." I miss singing at the top of our lungs to old time rock and roll, dressing up at Halloween and driving around at Christmas to look at the lights.
This was my friend with whom I shared most of my life, from early childhood to well into my 50s. My friend with whom I slugged through adolescence, and dared and dreamed a brief bit of our twenties. Ultimately our differences tore us apart and there was a long period of separation of our daily lives. We did not separate ourselves out of hatred or disdain, we simply recognized we had become very different people from the girls who played a pick up game of softball with the neighborhood kids, swam endlessly in the backyard pools, rode our bikes, and walked around the block together. The simplicity of our youth had faded and the reality of life was settling. We had different lives, different priorities, different views, different goals. For the most part we respected each other's differences and simply cherished the shrinking child inside the budding adult.
My thoughts have floated to memories of my friend lately and I realized so clearly how she was, in all her beauty and in all her darkness, a personification of divine love. She was created in the image of the divine, she devoutly loved every living being, she sought to comfort another when she found them aching. She bore her own sadness as well as that of others, but even her own sadness was a visceral response to some inequity or hardship confronting those she loved. It was her sincere and compelling desire for a living being to experience happiness, good health and well-being, and to be aware someone loved them regardless of what they may have done or what may have been done to them. If they were hurting, she was hurting.
It's saddens me that I did not grasp this true beauty of her being until after her death. Often, people find fault either with self or the dead once they are gone (I wish I had... if only... why did I/he/she/it?... ad nauseam). I could wade through that darkness, but her fragile heart has already examined the nuances of this life's inequity and it need not be done again. I'm choosing to see the beauty she shared with us, and it was abundant.
The paradox of her life was no secret, she was a gentle soul who had insidious demons she could never seem to fight...I will not allow those demons to steal my friend and my memories. I will simply remember her compassionate ways and her greeting, "hi sweetie."
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