little moments

For as simple and fair skinned as she was, she really liked color. She had this bright blue suit that she'd sometimes wear to work. I mean, a ROYAL blue. And against her fair skin, it was quite striking. Sometimes she'd rock the red top and bright red lipstick. She pulled it off as if it was nothing at all.

Not a lot of women can pull off bright red lipstick on a work day. Even for me, it's a bit bold.

Today she wore a shiny peach color on her lips. She wore a high neck dress to cover her tumors. She looked... peaceful. Everyone says that when you go to a viewing. That they looked peaceful. Well, of course she did. She looked more alive in her death that she did the last day she was alive.

The minute you walk in the door or a mortuary you are hit with it. That scent that reminds me death. Actually it's flowers. Carnations. The overwhelming scent of fresh flowers. I walked up the stairs, following the sound of voices and coming around the corner to vaguely familiar faces. We didn't know each other, not formally. However I knew they were her friends from church and I was her friend from work.

I immediately saw her cousin, who was there with her that last night. She hugged me tight for we shared this. The whole time Christine and I knew each other, she talked often about this cousin, but we never met. No, we met at Christine's bedside, the night before she died. She hugged me for a long time. She was crying. I tried to keep it together and I had just walked in the room. People were looking and I felt immediately consious of this. She was leaving, and said she would see me tomorrow. "You know, we were the last ones to see her," she said. I nodded. Yes, I knew. "I can't believe she's gone."

"Me neither," I said to her. I squeezed her hand and we smiled. That knowing smile of support for we had shared something so special to each of us we probably wish we didn't have to share it with the other person.

With her cousin making her exit, I greeted her mom and dad. Her dad reached his hand out to me and I hugged him. Her parents are such warm and loving people. I had spent a few holidays with them. Her mom always welcomed me into there home. Turkey, cheesy greenbeans, the chocolate fountain. There was always a seat for me and my boys at her table.

She hugged me now and said the same, that she looks peaceful. "But Julie, it's not her. She's not here anymore. She's with the Lord now and that is just her body."

I started crying then. I think because I struggle with God and the ideas of Heaven and all, that I find less peace in that statement than some would. There is peace in knowing she is no longer in any pain. I looked around the room at the flowers and the collage of photographs.

Surreal. A whole collage of photos of my best friend. Many I had seen, some I hadn't. Picture of her climbing out of a paddle boat. In a pool with some snorkeling gear. Hooked up to a parasail. Line Dancing. Prom. So many pictures with her daughter. Photographs of her the way I remember her. I smiled, looking at each picture for a long time. Taking it in and appreciating that she had a full life with lots of fun experiences. She was daring, but you'd never really think so if you'd met her.

In the adjoining room to the left, was her casket. It was a shiny lilac color with a simply purple flower design embroidered in the lid. Her hands were crossed over her stomach. Her thin, frail hands. She always had pretty long fingers but she was never able to grow her nails. They were longer now and painted that same shiny peach as her lipstick.

I wanted to touch her, but I didn't. I wanted to stroke her face, but I didn't. She looked better than she had when I saw her last. That last night she looked sunken and sickly. Skin stretched over a skeleton. She was plagued with disease. Now she looked sleeping. Quiet. Almost as if she was going to open her eyes and say, "Stop your crying!!"

For what seemed like a long time I stared at her lifeless body. I was joined by another co-worker/ friend and we shared memories. We laughed and reminisced about her red lipstick. Her affinity for girly things like floral prints, dangly earrings, and her love for Disneyland. We stood together, looking at her body. I was grateful that she looked better than that last day that I rushed to her side, to say my goodbye to this woman who I will remember as one of my best friends.

I had approached her and taken her hand. I told her that I had to go but I would be back tomorrow. Maybe she wasn't sleeping, but was just so medicated that she couldn't be awake. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was all the energy should could pull together and she spoke. I could not understand her words, her voice was.... froggy. Yes, I know she was trying to tell me she wasn't scared. That I should not be scared. To take care of the boys. To check on her daughter. To travel. To trust. To love. To live my life. That she loved me. That she knew I loved her. I know she was telling me all those things in those few words that she was trying so hard to get out. I stroked her hands then, calming her, "Shhhh, it's ok. It's ok now. Rest. Shhhh...." I was overcome with tears as she closed her eyes and fell 'back to sleep'.

This is how we said goodbye. I had every intention of coming back the next day, but I think she knew. I think she was ready. While I will never forgive myself for not spending more time with her in her final months, I will always feel grateful for that moment.