Dear Jeanie

Dear Jeanie,

I don't usually write you letters. When you went to the Boston Conservatory of Music, in the early 1990's, I wrote to you, but you never wrote back. Instead, you called me on the phone long distance, which cost a lot back then. It wasn't until I continued to write and you called me once a month, that I finally saw the pattern. I asked you why you never wrote to me, you finally told me you were Dyslexic. I didn't know what that was, so I looked it up. The internet was brand new, but I was still checking out books from the library. It was still a few years before I understood what a difficult time you had reading and writing. I am in awe you were able to graduate with honors from the Conservatory.

This letter is not the usual chatty, newsy missive with details about me. This letter is about you. This is about the strongest woman I know.

We have been friends for over three decades. You have included me in your life, understood my problems, and helped me navigate life throughout the years. We are almost ten years apart in age, but it never seems to make a difference.

I remember with fondness, you arguing with my 6-year-old on her level. I couldn’t help thinking you were quarreling like siblings. You are like a daughter to me. You are my daughter, my sister, my confidant, my friend.

The day you shared the facts about your illness with me, cemented you as my lifetime friend. I felt the need to champion and protect you from people who refused to admit you had a life-threatening malady, including your own family. You have suffered so much, having a skin ailment over 80 percent of your body. It is a death sentence. Most people don’t live past 30 with this debilitating disease and yet, here you are. Every time you enter the hospital for any reason I am in mortal fear of your leaving me. Selfish, I know, you told me once you were too stubborn to let this disease kill you before your time, and I am holding you to that statement.

You sympathized with the loss of my son and gave me the greatest gift you could ever give. You allowed me to be in your sons life. I was there when Richard was born, I took care of him for many years, I am his Godmother. Even when I am abroad working, he is in my heart, always, as you are. You have shared him with me completely, his ups and downs, his successes, and failures. You gave me the opportunity to help with school and Scouts, family matters and good times. He is a son to me and I am eternally grateful for your strength, and generosity.

You have supported decisions I have made, from divorcing my husband after 27 years, to going back to school at age 57. You never once questioned my choices, but gave me the best advice you could.

You sang the song my mother wanted at her funeral, and helped me through that sad, sad time. You and Richard made all the difference in my being able to move forward, It meant more than you will ever know.

You are the most talented person I know. There so many things you are good at, I feel you need only to pick up something new, and you master it. Considering your Dyslexia and Dysgraphia, that is miraculous, and puts you in the extraordinary category. I constantly wonder why I am not insanely jealous of you and your abilities; I have often pondered this question. Perhaps because I usually benefit from your talents, or maybe because you are matter of fact about them, and don’t make people feel they are less than you.

Your illness killed your dreams of being an opera singer on stage, but you have done so many amazing things in your life. I am sorry the world did not get to know and admire you; I am sorry your voice did not shake the musical world as it should have. Even so, you have filled your life with music and theater in ingenious ways, and indulged your passions whenever possible. You used your talents and voice to make an age-old performance genre work for you. Your Burlesque was divine, and truly artistic.

You are the most generous person I know, sometimes to a fault. You help others in need, and you care about everyone. You are utterly unique, and the strongest person I know. I rely on your strength, as do so many others, to the point of it not being fair to you. You always have to be the strong one.

I have tried to be there for you, as you are for me, I hope you know that, I hope you have felt you could rely on me. My ability to advocate for you when necessary, is important to me.

Your constant support of me and my life has made a difference. You are my best friend, even when I go away for a year or two at a time, you are there, and that grounds me.

I have finally ceased to worry about your inevitable demise because of your illness. You have beaten the odds at least twice over. I am grateful for how well you care for yourself, in order to make sure we don’t have to live without you. When you go, I will of course, be devastated, but we will continue to be grateful we had you for as long as we did,

I pay tribute to you, my dear friend, for your strength, wisdom, courage, and most of all, humor. Your over and above clothing choices, your attention to detail when participating and creating everything from food, to chic couture, to Scouting, to visiting every Tiki Bar in the world. When you like something or someone, you are in 100%. Knowing you has been an adventure, and I hope we will continue to share our friendship for many more years to come.

I am crying as I write this letter because I am a silly, foolish old woman. But I leave you with this happy thought, no matter how old I get, you will always be younger!

Bless you and keep you, my dear.

Love,

Marilee G. Hyde

Stasi