Saying Goodbye

I have a dear friend of mines cream colored drum shaped light fixture up on a high shelf in our apartment. Its dangling cord flopping over the edge of our wall clock. The slow ticking reminding me that I had vowed to give up being a night person, at least while my children were under the age of 5. Yet here I am staring at that lamp stumbling through my first blog post. This blog has existed since 2010, a blank slate, a template to actually write something down, things as they happen, and it would help me to remember them. The lamp is both catalyst and comfort.

Staring at that lamp frayed at the end of the cord, where I can only assume my friends husband cut it off from where it hung on their ceiling with no measuring, hesitation or concern for the possible electric shock that might occur, it reminded me that my friend rarely went through a week without writing things down. Scribbled on pages, etched into journals, slid onto skin with marker. Heartfelt irreverent writing on mirrors, seashells, blog posts poured into poems. She lived fully and still somehow found the space, the words, the care to write it down. So here I am trying to write something, anything to remember that she left today and I am sad.

Mildly comforted by a lamp with exposed wires that feels just a little bit like a tether between two worlds. One where she and her reckless in the best possible way husband, blond haired boy and brown haired girl could laugh with my husband, encourage his ridiculous love of chaos, pancakes and over sized boxes of cereal that don't really fit anywhere. A world where her brown haired girl would run with my own sandy brown haired girl conjuring up full bodied laughs, mischief and 3 year old promises of sleepovers and thanksgiving dinners we would spend together soon.

And another world where Christmas cards are not hand delivered and children that made you really like children before you had your own grow up vaguely remembering they might have ever known you, read stories with you, guessed what the child growing in your belly would be, danced in your living room, or felt comfortable around you. A world where you might have to say awkward things like, I knew you when you were a baby, a child, when you weren't so tall or grown up.

Yes, the lamp is the last thing before I have to really say goodbye to that first world, to let it go and grow into what comes next.

Maybe hopefully, definitely; plane rides, letters in the mail, paying better attention to facebook, blog posts, scheduling the occasional skype session and being glad for what transpired before the stretch of States stood between us.

I offered to send the lamp, one last thing the movers couldn't cut from the ceiling. Part of me wants to be a courteous friend who boxes it up immediately and ships it tomorrow. The neat package arriving as a friendly reminder from those of us left here, saying, see we are still here for you, we are still your people. The other part of me wants to hold the lamp for ransom. Maybe they will come back for it. It's a pretty great lamp......

I am rarely bothered knowing the ending of books or movies it helps me invest on a safe level. I'd be lying if I said during our friendship I didn't occasionally play it safe, hold back or hesitate, I did. They are those kind of people that bring such heart and joy to a friendship that it stretches you. And for those of us who find the effort of stretching a tad risky when life happens, people evolve, and nothing ever stays exactly the same, a little hesitation feels like it buffers you from, well, the day you find out your friends are moving across the country and some of that thread holding your life and your community together must unravel. The truth is the stretch was more than worth whatever happens next...... And finally, something written to help me remember.