Five Women....Minus One

There are five women in my life who know me. They've seen me at my best and worst, they understand me. They are my friends and peers, and those closest to me.

Yesterday, one of those women died.

She taught me incredible lessons on how to be gracious while being sick, something she had copious practice with. She knew and understood me in ways no one else could and she was my example of who to be in areas of my life that are obscure and foreign to most people. I loved her for our unique bond, the fact that she knew the side effects I would experience with every medication since she had been through them and reacted the same way, and that she knew my dosages, just like I knew hers, just in case a doctor was called. We understood each other's stubborn refusal to accept help outside of a very small group of people assigned to such a task and our deep and prevalent fear of appearing weak.

Despite the chair, she was not a weak woman. She was one of the strongest people I've ever met. When we would talk and the pain would be especially bad, she would excuse herself, tell me she was on Dilaudid, then curse a blue streak. Never, though, when sober and never in public. A lady in every way, and one that expected the men around her to be gentlemen, especially those from the South who should know better.

She prepared us for this a hundred times. We talked about funeral arrangements and wills and all that. But when she comes out of it time after time, you begin to discount the reality of the fact. You forget that the odds tend to catch up with you. You begin to believe, as many of us did, that she would outlive us all.

One of my women has died. And I am hollow and empty without her. Grief will pass, the pain will fade. We will eventually say good-bye. But I will never forget my friend, my incredible, strong friend whose quiet strength and fiery spirit sang to me again and again of the kind of woman I strive to be.