WRITTEN JULY 1, 2017
Ten years ago today I received an early morning phone call that changed the world forever...for me and for so many others. My precious friend that shared my name was gone from this earth. She left behind two beautiful and brilliant boys, an adoring father and a brokenhearted mother who lost her first born child, only daughter and very best friend in the whole world all in the same instant. She also left behind countless people, myself included, that were forever changed by the intersection of their lives with hers.
***
I've only written about this once before, in my confidential law school admissions essay. When asked why I wanted to go to law school, there were several reasons that aren't worth getting into today...but one of the reasons was her. Her death and the horrific circumstances surrounding it were a small part of it but the larger part was how she lived her life...fully, embracing every opportunity, meeting every challenge and always changing and growing and somehow become more beautiful, more enchanting, more alive. She was so many things to so many people but I will start with how I remember her best - as a girl.
We met in modeling classes when our mothers got to talking because we had the same name, right down to the spelling. She was there because she was a model and a beauty queen and a gymnast. I was there because my mom was trying to build my confidence and help me not to be so shy. (I realize its a little hard to imagine now that I was shy to the point of needing a class but its true.) She was stunningly beautiful - strangers would regularly approach to say so - but her beauty or poise or talents really didn't define her in her day-to-day life. The little girl I knew was way more than any of that...she was mischievous and fun, silly and creative, daring and smart and funny and always up for adventure. She came up with the best schemes and kept everyone around her - especially adults - on their toes. She was fearless and bold and honest and genuine. She was brave. Even as a child, she knew who she was and was comfortable in her own skin. You could dress her up in ruffles and sequins and put on crowns and makeup but she wasn't the least bit fake, not ever. She loved the taste of baby lotion and those weird dot candies you pull off the paper to eat. She loved games and swimming and trampolines. Sometimes she and my sisters would team up against me. The three of them were tall, tan and skinny with long blonde hair and could easily pass as triplets. They had a club, sometimes, called the Fiesties. The club's main objectives seemed to be coming up with money making schemes (like selling friendship bracelets at the pool) and tormenting me. But often, it was the two of us. Underaged and running around the casino at Circus Circus in Vegas. Cracking open oysters to look for pearls and sneaking into the pool at the resort next door that had the slide in Hawaii. Days spent in the sun and the water (where she was a natural fish who would bake to a lovely brown while I was awkward and splashing and would blister and peel). Walking to the neighborhood playground. Driving (and occasionally crashing) the cart at the racetrack. That time she was so tired she starting using her bacon as a fork and we all laughed and laughed and laughed. When she fell in gymnastics and hilariously showed off her bruise. On stage. In the Winner's Circle. Waving from a convertible in the parade. We made enough memories as kids to last a lifetime. Looking back, I am especially grateful for that, knowing now how short our time together would be.
I didn't know her as well as an adult. As often happens, we grew up and went in different directions. Got busy. Got sidetracked. Our families always stayed in touch but I didn't keep in regular contact, something I will always regret. But there are memories and smiles from the times I saw her - still so lovely and funny and bold and enchanting. I will remember the moments we spent together forever. Anyone who knew her - even for a moment - was eternally blessed to have crossed her path. She was just special. She was always beautiful and popular and moving from one adventure to another. Whenever we got the opportunity to catch up, she would keep us rolling with laughter with her hilarious stories. She was the kind of girl that lit up a room and when her warmth landed on you, it lingered long after she had left. And even now, ten years after she left this world, that's still true. Her light remains on those of us who were lucky enough to be touched by it.
***
I try to stay in better contact with her parents and her boys. When I'm lucky enough to be around them, often they remind me so much of their mom it momentarily stops my heart. Its beautiful and miraculous to see her live on so strongly through them. But it doesn't completely remove the sting from losing her. I still think about her often. Every time I'm tempted to say something about getting old, I try to stop myself and be grateful for years to "get old" - years that were stolen from her. When something is beautiful...or funny...or nostalgic, she pops into my head. When I think about mothers...sisters...friends...I remember hers. When my life is touched by any kind of loss, she's swept into the current of my sorrow and swirls around my heart and mind.
Her memory doesn't make me sad, though. The loss of her does - it always will. But the thought of her life and all it meant, even in its brevity...it inspires me, challenges me, makes me treasure my moments and my people more, reminds me to appreciate our short time here and our precious loved ones.
***
I've heard the pastor, Levi Lusko (who tragically lost is young daughter) talk about how he isn't farther away from her as time passes. He explains that's because he will spend eternity with her, way longer than her all-too-brief time on earth. With every day that passes, he is drawing closer to her. Every time I hear him preach, I think about my friend because I know the same is true for us. We don't get farther away from her as the months and years pass by - regardless of how it sometimes feels. The truth is, we are always moving toward eternity...where she is now, more alive than ever. And so today, I don't mark the anniversary of the day she was stolen from us...I celebrate the knowledge that one day I will see her again...and this day, I'm just ten years closer.
SWJ
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