It was an average Saturday afternoon in October-
rainy and lazy. I look back on that day and smile, as it was the last time Lisa and I spent alone; just us
gals hanging out. All we did was lounge
on her couches, wrapped in blankets, watching Property Brothers. In the moment I didn’t know this would be the
last time I'd see her outside of the hospital. And if I’d known maybe I would
have said more or we could have watched something a little more memorable, but
I didn’t know. We both didn’t.
I look back on that day and I smile as it was just
how things always were with us-easy and comfortable. Lisa was one of my friends that I could just
sit and be with, no extra chatter to fill space. We were at ease with the silence. On camping mornings and later afternoon deck
time, if it was just us, there was always moments where we didn’t need to
talk. On our camping trips Lisa and I
could sit for hours quietly reading and I loved those days.
In 2019 I watched my friend slowly and yet so
quickly pass away. Things were good
until the Spring and by Fall we all knew there wouldn’t be much time left. We hoped there would have been, but secretly
we knew she’d be gone too soon. Somehow,
we thought we’d see another Christmas and New Years with her, but we
didn’t.
I think about her last month and the final days
often because they were not how she wanted to spend them. No one would- too
tired to eat and sleep, too tired to do anything really. And then the last few weeks in the hospital.
It’s funny how
everyone says, “oh, if I knew I didn’t have lots of time left I’d…” and then we
all go into elaborate plans of the last things we’d do. As though we’d have the strengthen and energy
to tick off items on our bucket list.
One last hurrah. Though when you realize there isn’t much time left it
usually means you don’t have the health or the means to live the life you
wanted in the end. I know that Lisa
didn’t. There were lots of things she
wanted to do with her husband before she passed that she couldn’t do. And maybe
that’s the thing. The lesson we are
supposed to take away from her death. Is
that we need to life live to the fullest and live like it is our last. These cliched adages are true.
I don’t have a word this year like I normally do,
and I certainly don’t have resolutions, but I do know that 2020 is one of
transition. 2019 brought big changes to
my life- new job and loss of a dear friend.
Now I need to figure out where I fit in this new reality and how to
create a life with purpose. One where I don’t shy away from the unknown or the
new as I tend to do that. Trying new things, saying yes and doing things now
and not later is what I want to have courage to do.
I end this blog post with a poem I wrote for Lisa
after she passed away. I think of her
everyday and I miss her all the time. She was someone I saw almost daily and
now I can only see her in the world around me.
Soliloquy
of an Angel
In
the soft winter morning sky
I
caught a glimpse of your voice
Lilac,
light and warm.
You
were there
In
the rays of sun stretching
Through
bare tree limbs
I
felt a whisper of your scent
Peonies
and ocean-sweet and fresh
In
the echo of the winter breeze
I
held your smile
You
were there.
You
are scattered everywhere
In
the softness of a feather floating to the ground.
In
the first green bud of a starved winter.
In
the twinkle of garden lights.
You
are everywhere.
You
left us shattered after your last breath
And
now we pick up the pieces, scattered everywhere we go
Hoping
to mend and feel whole once again.
You
were there and you are everywhere.
-- Margo Freeman
