A dear friend died last week and I just found out. I can’t imagine how I’ve been walking around without knowing this. I always assumed that I’d feel something or get some kind of sign if something important happened.
But I didn’t. She died and I didn’t know it, and I feel guilty.
She was exactly twenty years older than me, and our birthdays were only separated by two days. I was 19 when we met and she had a little girl, 11. I have always hoped that someday I’d have a daughter and we’d be close like them. I remember her as being just this little kid and now I realize we were only 8 years apart.
I guess I was just a kid too.
She tried to teach me – unsuccessfully – to drive a stick shift in her Volkswagen Beetle.
She gave advice, but only when I asked for it.
She chided me when I got too skinny.
She only ate with chopsticks.
She attended my first baby shower and sent gifts from Hawaii for the second.
She did my makeup at my wedding, and while I’m not sure my husband can remember what I was wearing at our wedding, I’m pretty sure he can remember what she was wearing. She was a knockout.
I never saw her without a smile. She was 57, and taken too soon. I’ll miss her.