Don’t Wait
How many times have you delayed reconnecting with an old friend even though you really wanted to see them and even though you really meant to make time? I confess that I’ve done this many times. In fact, I continue to do so. And sometimes, I’ve waited too long.
I was up early this morning, shortly before 6am, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but sleep eluded me. So, I did what all good folks do these days when sleep isn’t coming, I reached for my phone and checked my email. When I didn’t find anything of particular interest there, I tried Facebook. And there – about three posts down – was the sad news of the passing of my friend, Yvonne.
After the initial moment of disbelief, I realized that what I was reading was true. Another friend of hers had posted about losing her BF. And that sadness that accompanies loss came over me. I’d known she was ill, but we’ve all grown so used to cancer victims becoming survivors that I hadn’t worried that much nor for that long. Now, of course, it struck me. Yvonne had lost her battle.
I’m reminded of the words from the movie Calendar Girls when Chris makes a plea before council to go ahead with their risky project. She refers to cancer as “this shitty, cheating, sly, conniving bloody disease…” And that was my thought. This shitty, cheating disease has taken my friend. Had taken yet another friend.
I scrolled over to our FB messages and was surprised to find that our last posts were some time ago, way back in November of last year. I hadn’t realized it had been that long. Yvonne had recently moved from Long Beach to Pomona, and when I’d mentioned a holiday visit, she’d shared that she wasn’t settled in, yet.
I began then to think about the course of our friendship. We met in the mid 1980s in grad school at CSULA and hit it off immediately. We were among the oldest members of our class and perhaps that bonded us. Or maybe it was that we were both rum dumb by break time. The classes in our major met from 4 – 8p and both of us had quite a commute to school. I remember how hard it was at times to stay awake on the drive home.
In one class, we sat right next to each other and often whispered conspiratorially. Then one night we got a fit of giggles. I can’t remember what caused it. I’m sure it was just something stupid, but we got to laughing uncontrollably. The students near us looked anoyed and the prof sent several glares in our direction, but we couldn’t stop. Eventually, I think we had to get up and go outside.
I can usually control myself and, indeed, I can only think of one other time that I had gotten such a laugh. It was with my mother. We were on vacation in Hawaii and had gone to church one Sunday. During the homily, the priest, who was rather old, got stuck in his sermon. He’d preached for a few minutes and then started over. The first time he began again, I thought he was just making a point, but by the third time, my mom and I looked at each other and she let out a snicker.
You’d have to know my mother to know how truly unusual that was. She was a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic and the celebration of the mass was a solemn occasion for her. Thus, something had to really tickle her funny bone to get her to laugh in church. Well, by the forth or firth time the priest started his sermon again, she exploded with laughter. She was bent over. She just couldn’t stop herself and finally got up and left the service.
Laughter is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? I’m glad I remembered Yvonne and me laughing because we’d had some things to cry over. Not long ago, her husband had decided to leave her and go back to the Philippians where he’d apparently taken up with another woman on a recent visit home. Indeed her move that delayed our last meeting was a result of their divorce. He’d been given their house by the judge, but had to buy her out. I’d wanted to talk about why she was relocating so far away, but… I guess when you emigrate all the way from the Netherlands, the move from Long Beach to Pomona doesn’t seem far.
This morning, knowing that sleep was not going to come my way, I got up and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. When my daughter came into the kitchen, I told her about Yvonne. And she reminded me that Yvonne had been our landlady. In fact, she’d saved our bacon.
I’d gone to OR to be with my daughter for the birth of her first son. When the baby decided to be late, I’d asked for some time off from my summer position and, now that I think about it, had arranged for Yvonne to be my substitute. After an emergency C section and a half dozen other events that seem to conspire against Sarah, she decided to move back to CA to my delight. Unfortunately, when I returned home, my boss didn’t give me my job back. Without an income, I got behind in my rent and my landlady asked me to leave. Fairly new to the landlord/tenant issues, I didn’t realize I had options. Anyway, Yvonne and her husband had just started managing some apartments and were running a “first month free ad.”
I was so relieved to have a place to go to, but it turned out to be awful. We moved in amongst 1000 dead cockroaches and poison spread from one end of the place to the other. It was clear that we couldn’t stay even after we cleaned the carpets and scrubbed the cupboards and ensconced the baby upstairs in the relatively clean bathroom. Fortunately, I got another job right away and I took my first couple of paychecks and moved us out. Yvonne wasn’t happy with me because it was her job to keep the apartments occupied, but she understood in the long run that it just wasn’t safe for an infant.
Friend who laughed with me, I’ll miss you.
Friend who rescued me and mine, I’ll miss you. You’ll be pleased to know that that baby just turned 23 this week. How the time does fly.
Even though we haven’t gotten in a visit in an age, even though most of our communication has been via social media, even though we haven’t shared much in recent years, I want you to know that I will miss even that.
Rest in peace, my friend.
