My friend is dying. What difference does it make if I serve the less fortunate, those I don’t know, those I’ve never met? Do I even care about those people any more?
How can I care about strangers when I can’t help the friend I have? The friend who is “less fortunate” because cancer is taking her away. She’s dying. She’s not supposed to die now. She is invincible.
She’s 52 but acts (and looks) 25. She’s beautiful inside and out. She is a real housewife of Orange County. (I guess you can take that anyway you want. She’d laugh.)
|T is on the far right. Youngest looking one in the bunch – am I right?!?|
DEAR GOD, I don’t want to help that homeless person anymore. I want to help Teresa. (That’s “T”, not “TH”. You don’t say Thhhheresa.)
What about her girls? NO, GOD! She is supposed to be at their weddings. And watch her youngest graduate from high school. Shoot – see her youngest GO to high school.
Her youngest is the reason we’re friends. Her youngest was my oldest’s first BFF. And they always let little sister tag along.
|Remember this, T?
The first time they went to Disneyland together.
|2 Daisies and a little sister|
|Seattle Sleepover – 2009|
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
God, You know she loves You. She takes care of others in Your name. And yes, since she’s been sick others have come to her side. But not me.
Not me because I moved far away. Not me because I assumed this was a passing illness. A blip in her life.
No way would you take Teresa right now, God. No way.
Teresa – how can I serve you? Can I give you my lungs? Can I give you my healthy cells? What can I give you?
I guess right now all if have to give is my thanks.
Thanks for taking my 4 year old for manicures.
Thanks for playing dress up with my 7 year old.
Thanks for tea parties and margaritas.
Thanks for telling me about Rainbows and Uggs.
Thanks for letting B. spend the night in Seattle and letting me feed you all Frost Doughnuts.
Thanks for showing me that life doesn’t have to be so serious all the damn time and that laughing is good. And you laugh. A lot.
I’m sorry, T. Sorry that we have one of those friendships where we go months without speaking. But so thankful that whenever we do, we can pick up right where we left off. And when we meet up again, in our Father’s house where there are many rooms, I expect it to be well decorated – you hear me?
Teresa Smith, you are a huge part of my life. You are loved by many. You are loved by me.