A couple of months ago, I lost my childhood friend, Emily, to cancer. I had known her for over twenty-five years. Before her, I had never experienced a deep loss of life from someone that had meant so much to me. My life has blessed me with two lifelong friendships, those long-term friendships that you don’t remember living without, those years of engaging in experiences that essentially build the friendship into a sisterhood that is unique in its own right, and Emily was one of them. No matter what differences came and went, we were united, she was my family.
How can one sum up the value of a what a human being means to them in words? I just don’t know. Maybe it can’t be done, because even the most descriptive words can’t describe the emotional sensation of the deep pain and disbelief that surrounds the surreal moment of knowing like that, they are gone, not to be talked with again, not to confide in, to laugh with (and did we laugh), or to just sit with comfortably knowing that the history and memories that you share with each other is immense. Being around her made me feel easily understood, making being around her just that…easy. We would actually communicate telepathically.
Those are the relationships that feel the best, when one knows the other person so well, a simple look can express more than words are necessary.
Loss appears to be a lie, an unbelievable experience where the memories that play in your mind battle with the reality of the present moment. This can’t be real. If I call her, will she really not answer? She always answers. For the rest of my life, I really can’t talk to her? Oh yeah, I can’t.
Loss is knowing that you will now have to miss someone for as long as you live. A feeling that hits unfairly. I didn’t want this, this wasn’t meant to happen, I want her back.
But this is life, and I will lose many more that I care for before I meet my end, or me, whatever comes first.
I cherished so much in her friendship.
The safety that I felt with her companionship. Whenever we were around somebody new, or really just anybody at all, she would stand as a buffer or my “translator,” articulating the things that I would say that wouldn’t come out “right.” I often have a way of mistakenly using words, phrases, or just making up vocabulary that makes sense in my mind. (To me, words are to be played with, created (Sure! Why not?! Add more chaos), and used colorfully, trusting that their meaning and desired feeling will always be received by the meant listener anyway.) She would make fun of me for that when we were kids (lovingly), but nonetheless, she always knew what I was trying to say, and that to me was safety and comfortability.
Emily was always rooting for me, in career, in personal success, and just as a person. Relationships where people are in my corner are very valuable to me.
And even as I prepared myself as her cancer progressed that we would not be laughing later in life as crazed elderly women like we so promised each other that we would, her passing proved to me that all of my preparing still did not soften the ache of her loss.
Loss. It will meet us all. The loss of the other, or the loss of ourselves. My belief is that to live is to prepare for this moment. Because where my soul finds peace, is that in living a good life, I will prepare for the inevitable good death, that passing onto the next.
To me, death is not to be feared, but respected, because death is not the end! (in my beliefs) and in knowing that death will find me, I will meet it gladly, happy with the experiences I have made, the apologies I have given, and the goals that I have strived for. Granted, I hope that I can add many more years to this grand experience, but ultimately, that is not in my complete control.
But Emily had cancer. Was this a good life? She suffered immensely, her pain was hourly, and the thought of death a recurring reminder of a life filled with experiences that she will never have. But, in the midst of all of that! Emily had the energy and thought to check in with others to make sure that they were okay, to work, to babysit, to love hard, to laugh and to joke, to show a consistent strength while her liver was failing and her cancer was spreading. She tenderly and lovingly gave all her affection to the babies of her loved ones, knowing that holding her own children, something that she had wanted the most in her life, would never happen. Emily inspired me to love harder, in every type of mood, in any amount of pain. A good life? She did good with the life that she had.
Where does one find peace with loss? I find peace in the frequency of how much I expressed my love and appreciation to her. Leaving no regrets of words unsaid.
I had struggled with how to show my affections towards my lifelong friend after her passing. I write this now, in hopes to send love and support in a unified sentiment of a shared experience with the others that were touched by her, and adding some extra healing to my own heart.
I end with this, as I continue contemplating the origins of the Universe and the “whys” of all existence, I have found comfort in my beliefs, in respect to life and death. I have a strong faith in God, the Universe, the Unity and the Divine, the Whole, and the Creative Spirit that connects all energies, the Intelligence that exists in all Nature, the Law of Cause and Effect, and that Science is God and God is Science. I feel that whatever is bound to be connected in this lifetime, will meet again in the next, as have met previously before, if those energies are willed to do so. Is this just hoping? Is this just one of my working hypotheses competing for the Truth? But I feel it deep to my core.
So, with respect to my dear Emily, until our energies meet again, I will dream and think of her often, our shared memories, our shared plans, and trust that on the next go, we will do it better, improving with each try.