The funeral is this afternoon. I’ve been feeling down, for days. But this morning I am well and truly depressed. I wish I wasn’t going to her funeral. I wish I didn’t have to. Instead I wish I could call her up and have a good chat. Or go over for a cuppa. Instead, I am inside, waiting. The blinds are drawn. It is very dark both inside and out. Heavy rains.
I can’t concentrate on my work. Maybe I’ll write a letter to her. We always had a good laugh. Her smile was as wide as Wales. She never remembered to wear her teeth. Hate those teeth she’d say. Once they popped out in the middle of the co-op. We’d gone shopping. The teeth went flying and my elderly friend caught them in mid-flight like an acrobat. Takes practice she’d say. We’d laugh all the more.
The funeral isn’t for another 6 hours. What can I do now.
Thank you for expressing so much of what I feel. I had to go to the funeral of a man last week who has been my friend for 25 years, my husband's for 41 years. His death was a shock, and I still can't imagine that he is not available to the phone or for an overnight visit in our home. His granddaughter, in her sibilant, grief-stricken voice, read an amazing poem by Maya Angelou. It's called "Ailey, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens, and Mayfield". I believe it will resonate with you, as well. This link, I hope, will get you to the poem: http://www.uta.fi/~hopkins/WOODY/maya.html.
Posted by: Beth Westmark | 22 February 2007 at 02:04 PM
I tried the link to Ms. Angelou's poem and see that it didn't work. If you use a search engine, I believe you can find it. It's worth the search!
Posted by: Beth Westmark | 22 February 2007 at 02:06 PM
You honor your friend with the good memories you have shared. I'm sorry for your loss. Today is a day of sadness...tomorrow, we begin to reinvent our lives.
Posted by: Barbara-Kay | 22 February 2007 at 02:36 PM
I'm so sorry for your loss. And grateful for your wonderful reminiscing. The fine writing must reflect a fine friendship.
Posted by: CdV | 22 February 2007 at 09:02 PM
She sounds amazing. I'm so sorry.
Posted by: Margaret | 23 February 2007 at 02:39 AM
So sorry for your loss.
But you know that as long as we remember the ones we lost, as long as we cherish our memories, they are still alive with us, and not gone forever.
---
Beth, the problem with the link was only the full stop at the end. Try again:
http://www.uta.fi/~hopkins/WOODY/maya.html
Posted by: Claudia | 23 February 2007 at 07:57 AM
I am sorry that your friend has passed on. We can control so many things, yet so much remains beyond our powers and even our understanding. Hopefully, you have faith to carry you through where reason fails.
Posted by: Genevieve | 24 February 2007 at 04:40 AM
Your post title and photo are so apt. Yet the remembrance of flying teeth caught so skillfully made me chuckle, too. Sending you well wishes during this sad time.
Posted by: Lisa | 24 February 2007 at 01:47 PM
It is always hard to cope with death, especially when the person has been so close to us. I loved your memory of the flying teeth. I used to be opposed to "wakes," but I've seen over the years that they give us time to recall our friends and family members--to celebrate their lives with our own memories. My sincere condolences.
Posted by: Fran aka Redondowriter | 28 February 2007 at 09:40 PM
Peace.
You were a good friend and she to you. She's on a new journey now and will always live in your memory.
Posted by: herhimnbryn | 01 March 2007 at 04:13 AM
Take care of yourself :-)
Posted by: Chodpa | 02 March 2007 at 01:55 PM
Thank you everyone for your immense kindness.
Posted by: susanne | 02 March 2007 at 04:23 PM
I'm sorry your mom died. It sounds like you both had an exceptionally close relationship.
Kris
Posted by: kris | 06 March 2007 at 03:35 AM
You mentioned perhaps writing a letter to your mom. I did this when my dad died, because I felt I had not expressed my love and gratitude enough. I didn't feel that way with Mother because we understood each other better. The letters I wrote Dad(on my computer in a document) were like those I'd pen if he were away. I told him how I was feeling, what transpired during the day, and I thanked him for his generosity. This was tremendous therapy for me. Try it.
Posted by: Vivian | 07 April 2007 at 04:53 AM
Write letters. Absolutely. I lost my dad in May '07, rather suddenly, and there's a special journal I own now, which holds letters I write to him. Usually I'm just chatting, wrapping my mind around the grief, helping him understand how it could affect us all as deeply as it has; and in those words, I find my peace. Goddess bless!
Posted by: Melanie J. | 14 November 2007 at 07:34 PM
Sound like a true friend, and thank you for sharing your story. I think that people need to express there grief in order to help them overcome it.
Chad
Posted by: Chad | 21 May 2008 at 05:14 PM
They say there are stages. THEY say. Most want their answers given, only because they fear the unknown. You fear too. But, you asked and spoke to her in the midst of thin air, alone, seeking her voice. Just once more. You laughed when remembering…and that’s all she ever asked of you. The pain is there yes, but eventually it goes away. Unlike a true friend, the memory can never be taken away. And then you realize, she never needed to ask, did she?
Posted by: confusiuseoul | 09 December 2008 at 03:33 PM