In the past week, my mom, Irene, has lost five friends. While it is difficult for me to imagine, it has become as every day common to my mom as a conversation about the weather, and I feel the heaviness of her heart. Yesterday was no exception as she called to tell me her best friend had passed away. It brings me closer to the inevitable because if Mrs. Barbara can die, I guess, so can my mom. It is a reality I don’t want to face.
My mom is speaking at her funeral in two days. We talked about Mrs. Barbara and all the good times. They’ve known each other since my mom was in her early 20’s which amounts to 60 years of friendship. We talked about the hardships and struggles. We talked about friendship and how much a part of my mom’s life Mrs. Barbara actually was. The birth of children, buying homes, building fences and swing sets, walking off pregnancy weight, club memberships and bake sales, aging parents, tracing ancestors, grandchildren being born, sickness, all tied up neatly or not so neatly in a tight big bow. It’s all there – life – with all the happiness and equally with all the sadness. It was a friendship unmatched by any other I’ve known.
When I close my eyes, I see a movie in black and white, the old movie reel kind, with no sound. And I see my mom and Mrs. Barbara. My mom waving with full lips and a Jackie Kennedy bouffant hairstyle. I see Mrs. Barbara with her beautiful, long brown hair and high waisted jeans. I wish I could step into that scene, just once more to hear them laughing. To hear Mrs. Barbara’s familiar voice as she’d joke in her Southern drawl, “Oh Ireeeene!” and giggle.
We all struggle with death. It isn’t something we want to think about. The reality is, it is as much a part of the overall picture of life as living. The only difference is, everyone dies but not everyone lives.
I remember Mrs. Barbara, her love of history, antiques, horses, her children, her toy poodle Tutu and Penney, her cocker spaniel, and her devotion to her family, but I mostly remember how much my Mama loved her and what their friendship meant to her.
Mrs. Barbara became sick with Alzheimers. My mom faithfully visited her even though sometimes she remembered my mom and sometimes she didn’t. The last conversation she and my mom had, Barbara reach for my mom’s hand. She smiled. She said, “Thank you for coming to see me today. I now have two very good friends named Irene.” She had not forgotten my mom or their friendship. Somewhere hidden in the layers of all the living, she remembered her friend, Irene.
Although we can’t always see them, good friends are like the stars in the sky, it’s nice to know they’re always there.
