When the Last Petal Falls

Dear Mimmi:

It seems strange writing you a letter over seventeen years after you were gone.

I have to be honest, it feels a little strange to write you over seventeen years after you traded your earthly home for your heavenly one. You weren't even thirty six, when you died, newly married with a nine year old son.

The day you died, I called that familiar number, I looked out the window as a the final petals fell from the almost empty branches of a snow covered tree. It was February but winter can arrive late in California, where I lived.

But as I dialed that number, heard the breath on the other end, not your familiar greeting, I knew, before your husband even said a word, you were gone.

Our friendship over the years had been spelled out in twelve page letters, long distance phone calls and a month long visit in August of 02, but it went so much deeper than that.

The Lord sends people into your life for a reason, and early on I knew why we were friends, you showed me what courage was, what strength was, and you never failed to help others through your story.

Just months before that August 02 trip to your home you were escaping that abusive jerk, you were with before. I don't normally name call, but for him, I’ll make an exception. Coded messages, during that time were my only clue you were okay. Until we finally had a long phone conversation one day, and I heard for myself you were okay. You and your young son had fled to safety. I know without a doubt that took courage.

Courage I saw time and time again, when I was there or I heard in your voice, as you talked about the new life you were building for your son and yourself.

I also saw the way you tried to be strong for your son, even when you felt anything but. But when he was in bed, we would talk.

Just months before you fled, you had your left leg amputed below the knee, something you really didn't have time to adjust too, as you fled. The only exception was the time you called me crying because you wouldn't be able to walk into Easter service.

But there were those moments of fun, of laughter too, and we shared plenty of that, like the silly bet my other friend made with you about toes, a bet she of course lost. You had to be there, and you were but you are no longer here, yet you are in so many ways.

Not to mention the time you tried to teach me the Makarena, telling me that if you could do it anyone could, after all you were a double amputee, partial right foot, as well as left leg below the knee, but that didn‘t stop you.

And the time you caught someone staring as we wre heading into the store for diapers for my friends young son, so you told them a wild story about what happens if you get to close to a lion cage at the local zoo. And you managed to keep a serious face through it all, until they were out of earshot and we all started laughing.

Those memories came flooding back, as I heard your husband’s familiar voice tell me you were gone, and then go on to tell me how much our friendship meant to me, I was a sister to you, and you to me.

As I hung up the phone, surprised but not surprised over the news, because somehow we knew that your time would be short, the girlscout cookies I had ordered says before were dropped off, the sweet little girl and her Mother refused the payment when they heard the pain in my voice. I often think of that little gesture as your last gift to me, a reminder of a strangers kindness.

Love the sister of your heart

Michelle