Monday, July 18, 2016

Four for Five

I was paying for spaghetti. The boxes were on sale four for five. I was surprising a friend with dinner and was in a store I almost never frequent. I heard someone behind me calling my name in a questioning way. I turned. I recognized her right off and enveloped her in my signature hug. “I knew it was you because of your foot,” she said.

Before we continue, a little backstory.

It is many years ago. My son is in elementary school and has decided to become a Scout. This is a wonderful experience and keeps him busy in a productive and appropriate way. He builds birdhouses, creates mosaics out of dishes he gets to break, and, thanks to his overzealous mother, earns more badges than any young boy ever truly needs. He goes to camp, discovers a love for archery, and gets super excited about not bathing the entire time he is away from home. He also makes new friends. Among these friends are two little boys who are twins.

This is not a best buds kind of friendship but is an acquaintance that is both comfortable and strong. I get to know the mother. Our connection is the same as that of the boys. I like her energy. I like her spirit. She is a beautiful soul with a smile that is too big for her face. She is one of those people who smiles with all of her face. As the years go by and those boys grow into men, the mother and I cross paths many times in many ways.

Then one day, the mother posts on Facebook that she has been diagnosed and the prognosis is not good. She sets up a hospital bed in her home. Friends bring dinners. Her husband coordinates surprises and visits from those who care. Her boys prepare for a day when she will no longer be physically a part of their lives. This is too soon, too early, too much for anyone to grasp. Cancer has its own mind and does as it will damn well please.

This woman creates a Facebook page dedicated to her dying and death. Only she could pull off a feat this strange. She refuses to allow this space or the people who read it to become morose. This is her page, a page of love and energy and sunshine and good will. Her dying will be as was her life. I do my best to infect her friends with my positive vibes. She has messaged me to insist I do. Through this page, I am strengthened, I am comforted, I am moved to put both life and death in proper place. Through this page, I also make a friend. We become a close group, the followers of this page. We connect in a way we ordinarily might not. And, so, this new friend and I gel from moment one.

This friend and I exchange many of those conversations all friends know. “You should come down sometime.” “We need to meet for lunch.” “Let’s plan a time to get together.” Of course we never do. We live in different states and have our own busy lives. Two years pass and never once do we meet. Never once do we meet until I am watching, tonight, my baguette and bagged salad being scanned by the clerk. “Tammie?” “Holly!” Of all the stores, of all the places, we are in line next to each other at this point, at this time, sharing a hug that is bigger than hugs, sharing a hug because of a woman who refused to die.

We love you, Kelly, for who you were and for how you lived. Thank you for never being afraid to just be you.

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