I lost my friend, Ollie, a few months ago.  I didn't lose her, actually.  She died and I miss her.  She used to tell me that she was "ready to go", as she put it.  She kept telling me that she was going to put her head in the oven, but couldn't figure out how to manage it all.  We would laugh at that and then she would remind me that she had already outlived most of her family and friends and couldn't figure out why she was still here. I hadn't been to visit her for months before she died.  Now her voice, her memories and advise, so many of her words of wisdom keep coming back to me, guiding me through this heartache of losing someone you have loved dearly.

I remember when we were first getting to know one another how she showed me a picture of herself as a young woman. She was beautiful.  She had been a model when dresses were tightly drawn in with waistbands and flowed outward over the hips, perfect for twirling around in.  She was blonde, blue-eyed, tall and thin.  I fell in love with her that day.  From that day on, I told her I thought she was beautiful every time we got together.  She thought so, too!  We laughed about getting older and losing our youthful beauty.  She made jokes about the changes we women go through and reminded me to stand straight so I didn't get the humpback so many older people get.  She would walk around her living room showing me what position I needed to take in order to avoid this frightening deterioration of the body.  I felt myself straightening up in her presence and taking more pride in the way I carried my body.

We shared memories of our husbands as we were both widows.  We laughed, cried and comforted one another with stories about past hurts and joys involving both them and our children.  My doubts about my choices and past deeds would pour out while she patiently listened, probing when it was needed, nodding and um-mming when I needed encouragement to share the difficult parts.  She reassured me many times that I was a worthwhile woman who had done the best I could in being a good wife, partner and mother.  It was her advice I sought when learning to dream of a life of my own after a lifetime of giving to others.  She was the one who told me to travel with the simple phrase of, "Go while you can still walk".  I held onto her advice and followed it by taking three international journeys, something I had dreamed of doing since I was very young.

When my father died, when my son was sent to prison, when my job was in jeopardy, it was Ollie I ran to.  It was  her arms I fell into and it was her heart that opened up for me and my pain.  She never judged, just held onto me until I was ready to let go.  Now she has finally let go.  Now I must be the one to hold on.  I must hold on to all the beauty, the laughter, the joy she shared with me.  I miss my friend, Ollie.  I am so grateful for the time and energy she gave me.  She changed my life by loving me, my friend for life.


                                                                                                                                   sandra harper © 2011