For Each Passing

Troubled, I slipped out of bed and walked down the hall to my office. I felt like I had forgotten something, but didn't know what it was. I turned on my computer and stared at the black screen until it booted up. I began going through e-mails and messages in search of something, but I didn't know what I was looking for. Not completely satisfied, I logged onto a couple of my social media accounts and trolled for a while. Scrolling through images and messages, I came across a familiar picture and smiled.

I reflected back on the last time I had actually talked to Angela and when we last sat down for lunch. It had been a really long time. I mean, a really long time. Her oldest had just been born and I was pregnant with my first. Gosh, that is a really long time. I thought. I wondered what wonderful thing was being shared and began to read:

My moms service will be held Tuesday at 11am at 3155 Trickum Rd, Marietta, GA 30066.

Thank you everyone for the continued thoughts and prayers.

At first, I thought Angela was posting a message about her own mother, which was really confusing because she had passed away many years ago. So, I started looking at her profile and realized that my closest friend from high school had passed away. She had just celebrated her 54th birthday, and I had forgotten to send her a card. I guess I had gotten caught up in my own life. I began to cry.

Why am I crying? Do I even have the right to cry?

The guilt seemed to wash over me. I had not been a good friend these past years. I didn't even know that she had moved to Georgia. What kind of friend doesn't know these things? And when did she move? I have been sending birthday cards and Christmas cards to her address in California.

This isn't the first time that I had failed as a friend. Two years ago, after nearly twenty years, I reconnected with my daughter's father. We had a long frank and candid conversation. There was no blame, but acceptance for all the reasons we had separated. And then I asked about his brother, Mike, who I had been good friends with during my senior year in high school. James responded: "He passed away thirteen years ago."

I was devastated. I felt like I had failed him as a friend. Especially after learning how he died. My father had once told me that I was a great friend to him and that I was a good influence on him. After James and I split up, Mike and I still spent time together. That is until he got married and moved away.

I had heard that they eventually divorced and he returned to California. I tried to find him, but he had no social media accounts - I gave up looking for him.

For many months after James told me how Mike died, I had nightmares and I struggled with terrible guilt. If only I had been a better friend. If only I had tried harder to find him. If I had been there for him, he would still be alive. Did I really have that kind of influence? How arrogant of me to think that I could have prevented his death. He had family that loved him and cared about him. What made me so special, that I could have done what his family could not?

I stared at the picture of my best friend, Angela, wishing that I had been a better friend. I searched her profile and found beautiful tributes to her life. I reflected on the kind words spoken of her and I knew they were true:

Angela is and was a true friend. She is an amazing woman. She supported Her family, mostly by herself. She has beautiful amazing, wonderful children and grandchildren. She was a true matriarch of her family. She was strong, kind, unselfish, giving, loving, forgiving ... and so much more.

As I continued to read, I discovered that she had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer only a month prior. This revelation sent me into a downward spiral. My father had passed away ten months ago, on August 1st. His diagnosis was similar and he succumbed to cancer in a month's time. The last time I saw him was the day before he died. I still remember him sleeping in the hospital bed provided by hospice and pleading with God to spare him. I wasn't there when he died. I should have been there.

I continued reading the many posts left by friends and family, reflecting on how young she was. Such a tragedy to lose someone so amazing, who had so much to offer and who loved so many. Then I remembered another friend who had died tragically...

Three years ago, Jane lost her life during a domestic dispute, leaving two beautiful children orphaned, as their father took his own life after taking Jane's. Her twin sister, Jill took the children in and has been raising them with her husband.

Again, I wasn't a good friend. I barely kept in touch with either of them. I would comment on their postings on social media. But, I never returned to visit my closest friends where I grew up.

What is wrong with me? I should have been there for my friends. I should have been a better friend. Or am I completely incapable of being there for others?

Then I remembered:

I am a wife to a wonderful husband. We have raised nine children together. I am a grandmother of ten and an aunt of 30. My best friends are my husband and my children. We love and laugh together. We take day trips and explore foreign destinations.

And if I lived close to my childhood friends, they would be a part of my life. I know this because I have made new friends that I spend time with. We go out to dinner, watch movies, and have bar-b-ques. I continue to make friends with those who share my interests in art, music, and literature. And I have made good friends at work. And when they have joyful moments, I celebrate with them. When they are suffering, I am there holding their hand.

Loss is hard and it is a part of life. The pain will remain, however, the sting of it will lessen as time marches forward. And one day, I will pass from this life, and others will mourn me.