A dear friend of mine died during elective surgery, 12 years ago.
A home-educating mom, she left behind two young children and their faithful dad. Last time I saw them, the kids were doing fine. Actually, they were not so young anymore, then, one in high school and the other in college. They showed many signs of good parenting. It made me glad for the memory of their mother, my friend.
She had always been so heart-felt. She and I could talk about any serious subject and seemingly always understand each other before we had completed a sentence. When a subject was especially deep or important to her, she would become misty-eyed as she spoke. That happens to me, too, and often did when we conversed. We both understood that about each other.
This seriousness in her shows in her children. Oh, they laugh. In fact, their beautiful smiles erupt at any chance, and they see the humor in life’s oddities, all the time.
They are not silly, though. They are something more like blossoming or fruitful. They have combined the gentle rain their dad always supplied into their lives with the sunlight their mother always added. They have become strong, tall trees and have dedicated their lives to doing right. It makes me glad for the memory of their mother, my friend.
Somewhere out there exists a video of her delivering an impromptu speech about her strong convictions on homeschooling. She is near tears as she speaks for the record, as I was every time I viewed it. She pleaded with parents to take their children seriously.
This distillation of her heartbeat riveted me to my seat on every viewing. She was younger than I was, then, far younger than I am now, yet her bold insistence on protecting and preparing children imparted strength to my backbone. Only a hardhearted person could walk away from the truth she expressed without pondering, at least, if there might not somehow be more…
She makes me want more, every time I remember her. More grace. More energy. More conviction. More boldness. More follow-through. More prayer. More tears when I talk.
More blossoms and fruit on my trees.
More sun and rain on my trees.
11 thoughts on “Remembering a Missing Friend”
A beautiful tribute to your friend.
Thank you, Tilly. I do miss her, still . . .
I had tears just reading this. I’m sorry to hear of your loss, a very dear and near friend … even 12 years can seem like yesterday! I’m sure you are happy you’ve had her friendship and know what to look for in people. I bet not a day goes by that something reminds you of her.
What happened during her elective surgery or after? Thank you for sharing your special friendship and Happy Mother’s Day! Take care and stay safe.
Thanks so much for your kind words, here, Edie. Bless you for your tears! It was a sad day, and a great loss, indeed.
What happened during my friend’s surgery was that the anesthesiologist, instead of entering the blood vessel with the needle, pierced through the entire blood vessel and was dripping anesthesia into the chest cavity, instead of into the blood vessel where it belonged. (I do not know all the proper terms for all these body parts, sorry.) She had a heart attack and stroke during surgery. The hospital paid without going to court.
I do intend to have a happy Mothers’ Day, and I hope you do, too. Thanks for your kind wishes!
Thank you for sharing such a moving post about your friend. I had a close friend commit suicide about three years ago, at this time of year, and Rebecca left behind a husband and a young son. Now Tom is raising that boy alone, and Tom too is alone. We can never fathom how large a hole death leaves. Bless you.
Lana, I am so very, very sorry your friend chose this horrible choice. You are right about death leaving a hole, but self-inflicted death tends to leave a far, far larger hole than anyone can know, who has never been the victim of those who perpetrate such choices. I am so sorry Tom has been left to deal with the aftermath and his precious son will someday have to fight off the tendency to copy his (former) mother. I am sorry for you, who may also continually wonder, “What did I do? What could I have done? Why did I not see it coming?” CRUEL! CRUEL!
I pray for you, for the family left behind, and for that precious child. May you all find peace in Jesus!
What a privilege to have known her, and how beautiful that you can yet look forward to those misty-eyed conversations again one day. God bless you.
Yes! I do look forward to all the joys heaven can bring, but . . . NO TEARS IN HEAVEN! 😆
Thanks so much for your comments and I’ll be over to visit you soon! 🙂
LOL, true. 🙂 But if it’s just “mist” in your eyes, does that count as tears? Teehee…just being difficult. 😀
I would never have said a thing except I knew you would giggle. Thanks for getting it. They say you’re closer to heaven when you know someone who is there. I feel that stronger some days . . .