Yesterday, I put on clean clothes, and picked out a pair of earrings, long, dangling earrings that my friend, Marianne, gave me seventeen years ago, in Santa Fe, when I visited her on my way to California. I rarely wear jewelry, yet, for some reason, I picked this pair. They have turquoise beads strung on silver, and at the bottom, hangs a small bird shape, abalone. The woman at the store commented to me how pretty they are. “A dear friend of mine gave them to me years ago.” Later, when I got home and sat down to go online, the first time in a day, I took off the earrings and put them in a small catchall tray I keep, thinking I need to remember to put them back with the other pairs I so rarely wear. I stayed up late, all night, really, falling asleep, waking up, sitting back down, and trying to stay interested in some series on Netflix. I finally went to bed at four in the morning, knowing I would get only about four hours sleep. Sure enough, the alarm went off and I ignored it. A couple hours later I finally let go my dreaming. As I opened my eyes, I had the strangest sensation in my crown chakra. It was as though the top of my head had blood rushing through it, and I put my right hand to my head, slightly massaging it, feeling a numbing sensation in my skull. I wondered if I might be experiencing an aneurysm, but it was not painful, and the rest of me was still working. The sensation passed, and I did my leg stretches before sitting up on the bedside.
Another sunny day, I wondered what I would choose to do today. I could go work in the garden, or clean house, or go to town and get the groceries for the week. I went downstairs and had coffee. I sat down with my coffee and went online, thinking toward my son, wondering if he was getting anywhere with his present challenges. I stayed online for quite a while, noting how the day was drifting by and I was still indoors, doing not much of anything.
I finally logged in to Face Book, seeing there were the endless comments on Trump’s latest shenanigans. I decided to see if my friend Marianne had been online lately; went to her page. The first post I saw was a message, put up two hours earlier, indicating that she was no longer with us, saying how much she would be missed. My heart skipped a beat, I swear, and I noted the name of the person that had written the post and private messaged her. Becky got back to me right away. She confirmed that Marianne had been struggling all her adult life and had finally given up the fight. She did not give any details, but she let me know that I should let go any guilt about not having called her, two days back, when it had crossed my mind.
“It probably would not have changed anything,” she wrote.
I will never know. All I know is that I hate that I did not call her the day before yesterday when it occurred to me I should call her. Now she is gone, forever. We were friends for over forty years, the sort of friendship that could go for long periods without any communication and then, when reestablished, picked up right where we left off. We had a very open flow; we could say anything to each other, without fear of judgment. I had just spoken to her three weeks ago, and she said she really did not wish to talk at that time, that she was depressed, but that she was okay. Thus my thought to call her a couple of days ago, as I felt I should check up on her. I should have listened.
The daylight gave way to a beautiful rose-colored sunset, with the moon shining, close to being full. I wonder if Marianne can see this, out of her body now, flying free, hopefully, at peace. I love you Marianne. It pains me that I will never again get to visit with you, neither in person nor on the phone. I will always remember your face, and the way you spoke, the light in those brown eyes, your devotion to the care of the dogs you fostered and adopted. You have let go all the pain you suffered over the years, and for this, I am glad. May you rendezvous with those you have known and had to let go. May you be free, in peace, in light, in love.