Tribute

I had a work friend who was larger than life. I don’t know how to explain it. This woman could somehow talk her way into anything. Any conversation, any situation, any promotion. She just somehow willed things into existence. She was a master at this, and I found myself frequently impressed, irritated, and envious all at the same time. It was a little baffling to have such wildly different emotions about the same person at once, but I regularly liked, admired, and felt annoyed with her in almost the same moment.

We worked full time at a large institution, where she was one level senior to me. She was my colleague and she was my competition. I was outsourcing everything I possibly could in order to just stay afloat at work (groceries, housekeeping, childcare), all the while feverishly wondering how she seemed to effortlessly set her own schedule, continually get promoted, and maintain a gorgeous wardrobe.

I left that job a few years ago and moved to another state, and she and I stayed in touch with infrequent texts from time to time. We were acquaintance friends for only a few years, but I think about her now more than I would have imagined possible on those days when I allowed my envy of her gifts to overshadow my enjoyment of them.

My friend died a little over a year ago, her life cut way too short by cancer. I hate writing that. I think of her in snapshots… her infectious laugh, buttering popovers during lunchtime getaways, side conversations after meetings, those moments when she would somehow pull yet another rabbit out of her hat and I was left completely mystified by the magic. Most of all, I think about the way she lit up like a firefly any time she could sneak a few words about her daughter into a conversation. She was a powerhouse at work, but there was never any doubt that her heartbeat was that girl.

I dreamed about her last night. This happens occasionally. I’ll dream that we’re having a perfectly normal conversation and I’ll wake to realize that she’s no longer here in this world and that we haven’t spoken in ages. It’s an extremely bizarre thought and I’m not sure I’ve really wrapped my mind around it.

Today as I was pondering connectedness and even sat down to write about it, I somehow found words about her pouring onto the page. As I was flipping through memory snapshots, a thought surfaced that I have not looked at for a while. An image of her sharing with me, even as I was leaving my job and moving away, that she was nervous about hair loss that could be caused by chemotherapy. It was a vulnerable moment and I wish beyond anything that I had shoved my fear into the back seat and shared my alopecia story with her. I don’t have experience with chemotherapy, but I do understand hair loss. I understand the fear, the anxiety, the regret, the shame. I know how powerful hair really is in a woman’s life. I understand not knowing where to even begin looking for help in the face of losing it. I could have helped her. I could have normalized it, or at least made her feel less alone.

I am deeply saddened and ashamed that somehow, I deemed the risk that she might share my story with others to be of greater importance than helping her live her own story. Several times I thought about saying something and I never managed to force the words past the gate guard I have habitually posted sentry over my mouth.

Oh retrospect. The belated recognition that life is just so short. The realization that our stories are not just shameful secrets to be pocketed away and withheld, but love offerings to be tendered into outstretched hands that don’t even know we can supply what they need. I am so thankful to say that one day, she sent me a photo of herself in the very wig salon where I used to go to buy my hair. It was two full hours away from where we lived, but she found it, and she found help. I so deeply regret that I did not choose to be part of the story that led her to that salon chair, but I’ll always be grateful for that smiling photo, and that generous reminder from God that while he can certainly provide without me, he allows me the opportunity to be part of what he is doing in others' lives. I pray that next time I will recognize that opportunity for what it is and choose to give what I have.

My life is drastically different now from when we knew each other, when it somehow seemed so important that she was always three steps ahead of me at work. I live in another state, I am pursuing a different career, I have reevaluated my life's priorities and shifted how I spend my days. There was a time when I could only see her success as it stood in comparison with my own, and now, oh how I wish I could see her winning the day again and celebrating with that infectious, irresistible laugh.