A friend of mine died on Saturday. No one knew she was sick. She’d withdrawn socially after she’d had issues with some people and I hadn’t heard from her in months.
I could insert some pithy Neil Gaiman quote, or talk about an incident in which I was reminded of my own mortality that day, but I won’t.
I remember she was the first friend of Melanie’s I met when we were dating, and she was always kind to me.
I remember the first time I ate dinner with her, at Don Pablos in Fair Lakes, and how she liked the queso.
I remember she was the first of the “zipper girls”, and was so pleased with that at first, and struggled with it later.
I remember how upset she was when Mel’s cat horked all over her clothes one night.
I remember how proud she was to get her motorcycle license.
I remember what a mess she made in the kitchen.
I remember finding we had a common acquaitance at GMU, and talking about the newspaper I worked on there and the terrible parking.
I remember she loved to travel, especially to California.
I remember visiting her parents’ house.
I remember she kept changing her hair.
I remember talking with her and her sister about them visiting my old store in Springfield, and how I still owed her store credit.
I remember the last time we saw her at our holiday party in December, and how she stayed late talking with us and Hannah and Dave.
I’m sorry we’ll never talk again.
I wish I had known she was sick, I would have liked to visit her.
Right now, Jill’s mom is addressing our wedding invitations, and I’m so terribly sad that now one of them will never get sent.
I’ll miss you, Shannon.