Grief Echos and Echoes

 Just when you think you've gotten through the worst part of losing a friend, you fall back into the sorrow of the loss.

I was remembering my best friend yesterday with a lot of fondness and laughter. I was telling a couple of other people about her and we laughed at some of the things she used to do and say. For most of the day, I found myself smiling when I thought of her.

Later that evening, I ran across a news article about Anchorage. My friend and I both lived there once so I picked up my phone to call and share this information with her. I got as far as pulling up her number where I could see her contact photo before I realized.

I can't call her anymore. I can't think of something during my day and imagine how she will react when I get to tell her. When I see a pretty piece of gold jewelry (gold was her favorite) or see a gorgeous outfit in purple or vivid yellow, I won't be able to tell her about it "the next time we talk."

I keep forgetting that she's gone and every time I remember, I feel newly lost without her friendship.

We called each other "sister". "Sister-girl, did I tell you...?" or "Hello, sister!" or "Okay, my sister, God bless, and I'll holler at you later".

Yeah.

And she called me "Trudy-girl". Mostly "sister" but hardly ever just "Trudy". No. She always said "Trudy-girl". She's the only one who's ever said that to me.

Our phone calls were always such a joy for me. The more random, the better. And they could get pretty random!

After years of being at time-zone odds - her in Texas and me in Alaska - we were finally on the same clock. Mostly. One night, my phone rang at around 2 in the morning. If it had been anyone else, I'd have worried. But it was my "sister".

"Girl, did I forget to tell you that I ran into L__r the other day?"

She quickly apologized for calling so late and we proceed to chat for 10 minutes about a fellow Alaskan who she had run into at a store in Houston. We hung up with plans to talk more about this later "when you are rested".

One time, I called her in the middle of the night during a really bad anxiety attack. I hadn't talked to her for a few days and my week had been a bad one. I had been having problems with my sarc and in one week I had tripped and fell, almost conking my head on a glass TV table, then I had run into the door frame going into the bathroom and put a knot on my head. I spent most of the rest of the time sitting or in bed just so I didn't stumble around and seriously hurt myself.

Laying in bed I started to get worked up wondering if maybe my medicines weren't working. Was my sarc getting worse? What would that mean? What if I had to go on a more drastic treatment plan? What it, what if, and what it?

I couldn't even get up and go for a late walk to calm myself. What if I fell outside in the dark and no one was around? I didn't even want to get up and pace around my tiny apartment.

Finally, I had worked myself into a having-trouble-controlling my heartbeat and breathing. So I called my best friend. I don't remember what time it was but it was way, way after midnight and way, way before time for normal wakeup.

My dear friend answered the phone half asleep but immediately knew I needed her. She talked me down to a normal heartbeat. She talked me into a state of not imagining the worst of everything. She calmed me down to a point of I actually fell asleep with the phone in my hand.

I miss her so much. I miss us reminding each other that God loves us. I miss us reminding each other that we were using bad language and to watch out for that. I miss laughing with her about the people we would see out and about. I miss us praying for each other when it was needed or teasing each other. I miss her sharing recipes with me over the phone while I stood in the kitchen trying to fix a soup or some dish she had been raving about.

I just miss her being on this earth. And then I remember that she is at complete joy and peace and rest. Then I'm just glad she is not standing at the door of eternity but gone on through.

And this is how grief breathes, rising and swelling and cresting like some great wave of control over my emotions. This is how grief behaves.

Peace

--Free