I finally saw Mary, a dear friend and neighbor in California. We've known her and Neil, and Megan and Jackson and Brooks and Reid...and I'm forgetting one of her grandsons. We've lunched and dined together and sat in the company of one another for years. When not in Mary's company, we've emailed and prayed for one another. Most recently-- when she lost Neil, her husband of many years.
After talking about everything else, Mary opened up about Neil. He'd died seven months earlier of different ailments that strike the aged. He'd suffered for years and when you watch your loved ones slowly deteriorate, you are thankful when their spirits leave their bodies.
My father was ready to go too. More than ready. He was anxious and conscious of the transition that happened in the last days of his life. Whatever he saw or felt, it drove him to exit life without hesitation. He was so focused, he didn't even say good-bye or "I love you." I've never experienced such a strange phenomenon as my father's death. I have no explanation except that it was other-worldly and other-worldly rarely has adequate descriptions.
With a seven month's perspective, Mary could finally articulate what she was feeling, what she was missing. She'd taken Neil's clothes (he was a dapper-dressed attorney), to her daughter's house for her four grandsons to sort through and choose. While there, she'd felt cold and pulled a blue cashmere sweater from the pile of Neil-clothes. The weather was beach overcast and she hadn't taken the sweater off. It brought more than weather-warmth.
"I miss the conversations, and his opinions," she said, the little things we take for granted in the commonalities of life. And in time, in at least seven months, we forget the pain of hardship that comes with aging.
Yesterday, I gathered with two friends to say good-bye to the one who is moving. It's been twenty-five years of yoga, and hiking, and beekeeping, and raising children together. By necessity, she's moving forward to a different state. She is healthy and strong and I don't want to see her go. There is no relief.
Friendship and love are synonymous with goodbyes. They are constant companions.
But, I hang on in ways that I can. I will visit Lisa often. We will text.
I think often of my father; I think of Neil. And today, while scrolling through my phone contact list, I saw another friend: Glenda, who left this earth just a few months ago. I felt a hammer hit my heart when I saw her name, her phone number, her address, knowing I couldn't call, couldn't visit and will never again receive one of her fabulous emails.
But her name, her phone number, her address~~they will remain.
Comments