Because I do what I do here, I have the awesome opportunity to meet so many amazing people, from all over the world. Sometimes our friendships bleed over into "real life," but mostly I maintain beautiful friendships with people I've never met in person. One of the perks of writing to an audience is that sometimes my words and my stories spread around cyberspace and reach people when they really need it. I never know when something I write is going to help someone when they're hurting, or make someone laugh when they're sad, or help them realize that it's ME who's the idiot--not them. It happens. I'm not saying that makes me an awesome humanitarian or anything, but it totally makes me an awesome humanitarian. And mostly I do it for free. What you may not know is that I need you more than you need me. There. I said it. I'm needy.
Sometimes I'll get traffic from one site and so I click on it to see what's being said. Only a few times has it been something like OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO READ THIS AWFUL WEBSITE WRITTEN BY A WOMAN WHO IS CLEARLY DERANGED--I MEAN SHE'S FUNNY--IN AN EVIL SUCK YOUR BLOOD SORT OF WAY--BUT DON'T LAUGH BECAUSE SHE'S THE DEVIL--AND SHE WILL HYPNOTIZE YOU USING JEDI VOODOO--I KNOW BECAUSE I READ IT FOR 7 DAYS STRAIGHT--SO I KNOW JUST HOW HORRIBLE A PERSON SHE IS.
Most of the time though it's something positive about my site. Which is what I like. OK, I like the other stuff too, and do you know why? Because even most of the haters keep reading. Cuz I tell it like it is--and they totally know I'm right, they just don't want admit that they use a vibrator.
So, a few weeks ago I saw that I was getting traffic from a site called Mommaville. But I couldn't read what was posted because it's private. So I joined (this is where my need for constant approval kicks in). And I was given access to the forum where someone had posted a link to my site. And these women, who it turns out, are an awesome group, were mourning the loss of one of their friends and were looking to my site for some comic relief. Her name is Vaike, and she had died the Friday before, at the age of 42. She'd not been feeling well some months back and went to the doctor with what she thought was the stomach flu. It wasn't. It was Stage 4 colon cancer.
Vaike was brave, she fought hard. She thought we would beat it. Everyone who knew her believed that if anyone could beat it, she could. Sadly, that was not to be.
She died all too soon, leaving behind her husband and her two young children, ages 2 and 4.
These women bonded with each other, sharing stories about their lives, giving and asking advice about marriage and parenting. But mostly, they're just there for each other, no matter what. In reading their stories about Vaike, the common theme was that Vaike was a strong voice for them. She offered support, gave sound advice, shared her life and her love. They're as close a group as any group of friends you would have in "real life." The power of the Internet never ceases to amaze me.
After hearing the stories, I wished I had known Vaike. She apparently was an amazing woman who continued to give fully of herself, all the way to the end.
Their story about Vaike made me think about my own experience with the loss of a friend. Her name was Ashley and we met at church when I was about 10. We didn't go to the same school, so we spent most of our time together on Sunday afternoons. We took turns going to each other's houses after church.
Ashley and I had what you would call a love/hate relationship. Sometimes I hated the very ground she walked on. I would tell her as much and promise to never speak to her again. I'd call my mom to come pick me up and as soon as we'd drive away, I'd start crying because I missed her already. She was a brat. And she knew it. She knew just what buttons to push to make me want to drown her. In fact, we did try to drown each other once.
It was 1980-something and I went to Florida with Ashley and her family. We went to Cocoa Beach to watch the Space Shuttle take off. It was supposed be an opportunity of a lifetime. I don't remember exactly what happened but we got in a fight, naturally--right there on the beach--in the water. And she dunked me under. So I fought my way out of her grip and dunked her under. And then the Space Shuttle took off. And we missed the whole thing. Because we were trying to drown each other.
Now, thinking back, it makes me laugh. We were so stupid. But we loved each other more than two people should.
Our relationship remained this volatile up and down kind of way until we graduated from high school. When we realized we were going to be away from each other for long stretches of time (she was going to Mizzou and I was going to Baylor) something changed in us. We no longer fought. We clung to every last second we got to spend together until it was time to leave.
Ashley was an only child and her parents were divorced. She hadn't spent much time away from her mother before. In fact, I don't think she was ever away from her mother--except when she was with me. During the first semester of our sophomore year, she called her mom and told her she didn't feel well. Her mom, thinking it was homesickness, assured Ashley that she was fine and that they'd see each other soon. Ashley kept saying she wanted to come home--she felt something was wrong.
Finally, after several months of this, Ashley's mom told her to come home--that she'd take her to the doctor.
The news was bad.
It was worse than bad.
And 8 months later she was gone.
I'll never forget the day my mom called me. I was away at school, and home in between classes for lunch. When I picked up the phone and heard my mother's words, I felt like my world was ending.
I'd just seen her the weekend before. She was in the hospital. She looked good. Well, as good as you can look at 80 pounds with your bones sticking out of your skin. Her wig kept sliding to the side and I laughed at her, telling her she looked ridiculous--why didn't she just take it off.
The one thing that never changed about her was her smile. She had the kind of smile where you use your whole face--you know what I'm talking about? The kind of smile where you absolutely can't help but smile back.
She was strong--that girl. She always wanted to know what was going on with me. Who was I dating? Why did I not know what I wanted to do with my life? Why did I wear that ridiculous sweater? We never talked about her illness. She was too busy being strong for me, picking on me as usual.
The last day I saw Ashley alive, her boyfriend was there and they talked about getting married. She loved him and he loved her--bald head and skin and bones and all. He sat there and in front of me, told her she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever known. She blushed. And I know she felt his words were true. I remember feeling jealous of their relationship. No one loved me that much. And I had all my hair.
I miss her. I miss that I hated her. I miss that I loved her. I miss that she always told me when I was being a shit.
She died 5 days before her 21st birthday. And I barely remember the funeral. It was open casket, but I didn't go see her. No way I wanted to remember her like that. I wanted to remember her smile--the smile that lit up her whole face. I wanted to remember the girl who tried to drown me.
I lay in the pew with my head in my mother's lap, utterly heartbroken and inconsolable.
I see Ashley's mom from time to time around town and at the grocery store. I see how she looks at my children and I know what she's thinking. She's thinking she would have grandchildren by now--and they'd all have Ashley's smile. I know she blames herself for Ashley's death. She's said that if only she'd listened to her when she said she wasn't feeling well--that maybe the cancer could have been caught in time.
Maybe.
Life is short. Love long. Love hard. Love much.
Posts
