Nancy, Again
A few years ago, while cleaning out my desk, I found a letter from my friend Nancy. I wrote about it then- it was clear sign from her. Yesterday? I found another note while preparing for my class. I don't much believe in spirit guides but what little I might? Mine would be Nancy.
She was funny, and kind. Her life goal was to be creative, and loving with her children. She poured her soul into them, and their world. She would tell me, as her children had grown into fine young men, of the little things she would do with them. Christmas was never about gifts but a pageant. They would sing songs, act out scenes from plays, dance- for each other.
What a priceless gift.
She, with the kids, would take out a map of the US and randomly choose a place. They would then plan their driving route, all the places they would go through, and learn about the towns, the history, any significant things that happened in those places.
And then they went.
She was always giving me ideas- a puppet show she saw advertised done by a troupe she knew was good, or my favorite, writing a birthday letter to the boys each year, to be given to them when they turn 18.
Shh. Doing that one.
She always smiled. She always had a look of mischief in her eyes. She wasn't afraid of her cancer, or the treatment. Only of leaving her boys behind.
She was not quite a mother to me, more of an older sister. She needed me, too- it wasn't one way. I remember reading that very book I pulled off the shelf yesterday to her while getting her chemo treatment.
In her note, she reminded me to "never pay more than the price of admission." It was her life lesson. She always felt so unworthy, the only way she ever felt okay was to go way over and above. Not at the end, though. She tossed a cheating husband out the door, shaved her head and learned how to ride horses.
She is never very far away for me. Random things will remind me of her and, clearly, every few years I find a very real piece of her.
I don't always do the right things, I don't always do my very best. Often, I feel the only way to make up for my shortcomings is to give and give and give. Nancy is shaking her head, No, Sara. No.
Her note ended, "Wish you were here to enjoy it with me. I love you Sara."
I am here to enjoy it, Nancy. I love you, too.
I hear you.
Again.
She was funny, and kind. Her life goal was to be creative, and loving with her children. She poured her soul into them, and their world. She would tell me, as her children had grown into fine young men, of the little things she would do with them. Christmas was never about gifts but a pageant. They would sing songs, act out scenes from plays, dance- for each other.
What a priceless gift.
She, with the kids, would take out a map of the US and randomly choose a place. They would then plan their driving route, all the places they would go through, and learn about the towns, the history, any significant things that happened in those places.
And then they went.
She was always giving me ideas- a puppet show she saw advertised done by a troupe she knew was good, or my favorite, writing a birthday letter to the boys each year, to be given to them when they turn 18.
Shh. Doing that one.
She always smiled. She always had a look of mischief in her eyes. She wasn't afraid of her cancer, or the treatment. Only of leaving her boys behind.
She was not quite a mother to me, more of an older sister. She needed me, too- it wasn't one way. I remember reading that very book I pulled off the shelf yesterday to her while getting her chemo treatment.
In her note, she reminded me to "never pay more than the price of admission." It was her life lesson. She always felt so unworthy, the only way she ever felt okay was to go way over and above. Not at the end, though. She tossed a cheating husband out the door, shaved her head and learned how to ride horses.
She is never very far away for me. Random things will remind me of her and, clearly, every few years I find a very real piece of her.
I don't always do the right things, I don't always do my very best. Often, I feel the only way to make up for my shortcomings is to give and give and give. Nancy is shaking her head, No, Sara. No.
Her note ended, "Wish you were here to enjoy it with me. I love you Sara."
I am here to enjoy it, Nancy. I love you, too.
I hear you.
Again.
posted by Sara at 2:12 PM
2 Comments:
she sounds like such a wonderful friend! even though you must miss her terribly, it is nice to have those notes that pop up on occasion, and bring her spirit back to you!
beautiful tribute.
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