Gifts and Gratitude

The Christmas tree is decorated and lighted, the stockings are hung, the cat has been re-homed to a new family that will love and care for her. The girls have begun the long and excruciating process of going through their mother's things – a monumental task and one that will take months and every ounce of their combined courage and strength – and ever so slowly, I am getting used to the reality that one of my dearest friends is gone. It keeps surprising me and I retreat from the idea, a little numb from the loss and a little guilty that I didn't do more when she was here. Someone suggests that we all feel that way when it's a close and longtime friend, it's natural if not rational, but my mind isn't quite clear enough yet to comprehend it all. I used to email her every other day or so and I find myself still thinking about what I'll tell her today or tomorrow. Then I remember that she won't answer and a quick, sharp, unexpected stab of pain goes through my heart. It's reality, taking its time to be sure, but firmly reminding me who's in charge. It's futile, I know, but every instinct I have wants to challenge it and fight back.

We studied Kubler-Ross in college and the 7 Stages of Grief has always made perfect sense to me, but when you find yourself actually going through them, it's not quite as clear. It seems to be a matter of two steps forward and three steps back and at times I still find myself forgetting that certain people are dead. I hear a joke or read a book or discover a new restaurant and I think, Oh, so and so would enjoy this, I need to call him or her. Then I remember they're gone and curse reality.

The first time we met it was over dinner at a local restaurant. Tricia and my husband were working together on a project for the Chamber of Commerce and they had agreed that their respective spouses ought to meet. I didn't know what it was like for her but for me it was stunningly painful – I was a northerner from the other side of the tracks, married into money and perpetually uncomfortable in my role, shy to the point of reclusiveness. She was poised and confident and outgoing and beautiful and I clearly remember being shocked by the fact that she had kept her maiden name, common and quite unremarkable now but outrageously radical and

suspicious 45 years ago. She later told me that getting me to say more than a word or two had been like pulling teeth. Lord only knows why she decided I was worth it – I'd have written me off as a meek, little mouse in a completely inappropriate marriage and not given it a second thought but she persisted. I doubt either one of us knew we would form a bond of unshakeable friendship and love.

One of the things I have learned about life is that If it's not wrapped and ribboned, we often don't recognize the moment we are given a precious gift.