A Time to Reflect
My friend, Nancy, has passed away.
I was able to go see her Saturday morning with my mom. The only reason why I knew it was Nancy was because she was in Nancy’s house, in Nancy’s bed. If she had been lying in a hospital, I would not have recognized her. She had changed so much since I last saw her. She was skin and bones. I don’t think she knew I was there, at least not consciously. My mom thought she did, but I figured it was easier to agree than to disagree with her.
Nancy had told my mom a few weeks ago that she wanted to make it to her next birthday. Her birthday was Sunday, and she passed a little after midnight.
I am going to miss her. She was always like a second mother to me. When I was there on Saturday, it amazed me how little things had changed at her house – the same books on the bookshelves, the same photos. Nancy had the most infectious laughter. When we’d be out and Nancy would laugh, everyone would turn to see what the commotion was about. It was an honest, devil may care laugh – and she laughed right up until the last.
Nancy did everything grand. I remember singing top 40 hits at the top of our lungs while we tooled down the highway towards the beach in her VW van (remember, this was the 70s and the van was “hip.”). As kids, we used to play freeze tag or T.V. tag on her front lawn while she and my mom sipped chardonnay and sat on the front step. We would watch “I Love Lucy” and “Bewitched” reruns while eating celery and peanut butter – sitting on the living room floor because our swimsuits were still damp. Nancy would sing along with us as we used the swing set to “fly” and be the Bug-a-loos (The Bug-a-loos, The Bug-a-loos, we’re in the air and everywhere, flying high, flying free, flying free as the summer breeze…..). Every May, Nancy would wax nostalgic about growing up in Kentucky, and she would watch the Derby and sing “My Old Kentucky Home.” She worked at a nursery school because she was a kid at heart.
These are just a few of the things I will remember about Nancy. She fought hard against her cancer; she never gave up. I know this means she is no longer in pain, that she doesn’t have to fight anymore. She can rest in peace.
I’m sorry to see her go, and her laugher quieted. Nancy, thank you for teaching me how to live my own life out loud. I’ll try and do you proud. I love you.
I was able to go see her Saturday morning with my mom. The only reason why I knew it was Nancy was because she was in Nancy’s house, in Nancy’s bed. If she had been lying in a hospital, I would not have recognized her. She had changed so much since I last saw her. She was skin and bones. I don’t think she knew I was there, at least not consciously. My mom thought she did, but I figured it was easier to agree than to disagree with her.
Nancy had told my mom a few weeks ago that she wanted to make it to her next birthday. Her birthday was Sunday, and she passed a little after midnight.
I am going to miss her. She was always like a second mother to me. When I was there on Saturday, it amazed me how little things had changed at her house – the same books on the bookshelves, the same photos. Nancy had the most infectious laughter. When we’d be out and Nancy would laugh, everyone would turn to see what the commotion was about. It was an honest, devil may care laugh – and she laughed right up until the last.
Nancy did everything grand. I remember singing top 40 hits at the top of our lungs while we tooled down the highway towards the beach in her VW van (remember, this was the 70s and the van was “hip.”). As kids, we used to play freeze tag or T.V. tag on her front lawn while she and my mom sipped chardonnay and sat on the front step. We would watch “I Love Lucy” and “Bewitched” reruns while eating celery and peanut butter – sitting on the living room floor because our swimsuits were still damp. Nancy would sing along with us as we used the swing set to “fly” and be the Bug-a-loos (The Bug-a-loos, The Bug-a-loos, we’re in the air and everywhere, flying high, flying free, flying free as the summer breeze…..). Every May, Nancy would wax nostalgic about growing up in Kentucky, and she would watch the Derby and sing “My Old Kentucky Home.” She worked at a nursery school because she was a kid at heart.
These are just a few of the things I will remember about Nancy. She fought hard against her cancer; she never gave up. I know this means she is no longer in pain, that she doesn’t have to fight anymore. She can rest in peace.
I’m sorry to see her go, and her laugher quieted. Nancy, thank you for teaching me how to live my own life out loud. I’ll try and do you proud. I love you.
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