My Friend Marilyn

My Friend Marilyn

Four months after Erik died, one of my dearest friends Marilyn lost her very long battle with cancer.  She was one of those people who faced her illness the same way she lived her entire life, with great courage and grace, with little complaining, and always embracing and appreciating the beautiful and important things in life.  She herself was a beautiful woman, always meticulous in her appearance, soft-spoken, with a laugh that was like chimes in the wind and totally contagious.

Marilyn was one of those people in my life who I actually met twice.  The first time I met her, she was bringing her daughter as an infant to be seen for Occupational Therapy at our children’s rehab center in Buffalo.  They would come to the OT department, and we would all be on a mat on the floor, with myself gently moving Christine through her exercises and experimenting with positions that might encourage her to move to her next stage of gross motor development or more readily hold her toys.  Marilyn would stay throughout the session, as a comfort to Christine, and to learn how to do the movements and exercises at home.  I don’t remember how long we kept these once a week sessions, I know it was a long time…maybe a year.

 

In that time, we formed a convivial friendship and I always looked forward to the days they were coming.  What I especially remember, is that during that time I became pregnant with my first son Jason, and when Marilyn and Christine came for their last session, Marilyn walked in with a huge gift box.  I was so startled and pleasantly surprised that she would do this, and still remember the beautiful pastel blanket and sweater set she had crocheted for my son.  We hugged goodbye and wished each other well.

 

Then, ten years later, I began a new job at a small school for children with disabilities.  I quickly came to find out that Marilyn was working there as one of the nurses, and we were able to resume our friendship where we left off.  She was pregnant with her third child at the time, and I was returning from the birth of my second son, Erik.

 

The rest is history, as they say, and we became fast friends.  Marilyn was one of those friends who I not only had so much fun spending time with, but who I respected and admired so much, and was the first person I would go to when needing advice.

 

When we both moved on to our next passages of our lives, different jobs, different cities, her getting married and me getting divorced, we always stayed in touch and got together when we could.  Those last years before 2010, we were both facing challenges, her with her diagnosis, and myself trying to stay afloat after my divorce and helping Erik.

 

The last time I saw her, she hosted a gathering of friends at her home just before Christmas.  We had a great time as always, Marilyn was the consummate hostess, and had thought of all the little details to make it a fun afternoon, including Santa hats for all. 

 

I remember that it was clear it was a tiring day for her, and there were a few struggles and teary eyes, all of us wondering if we would be together the next Christmas.  I have always treasured that afternoon, it was the last time I saw Marilyn.

 

It was about three weeks later that Erik died.  There were so many times I wanted to see Marilyn one more time, or help out somehow, but I was barely getting through some of my days, and I never made it to see her again. 

 

She left us in May, four months after I lost Erik.

 

The reason this is in the forefront of my mind now, is that I was invited to go to her home with her best friend, Lynn, and visit with her husband and look at some of her jewelry, to choose a piece to have for myself.  Since the day Lynn asked me to go, I have been plunged into an ongoing soul-searching of how I felt about losing Marilyn.  Just the thought of going to her house brought tears to my eyes and made me so uncomfortable…what the heck was wrong with me, it has been nearly three years.

 

Then suddenly I realized, I had never truly faced the fact that she was gone, that she had died.  I remember standing at her coffin and looking at her beautiful face, with no emotion registering at all.  And throughout the morning of her funeral and breakfast, my eyes remained dry as everyone commemorated this beautiful woman, wonderful wife, mother, and friend, asking how could it be that she had been taken too soon in life, when she still had so much to give and receive.

 

Four months after Erik.  I thought I was acting very “normal”.  I thought I was appropriately sad, but able to be strong enough to go through my first funeral after Erik’s.  I wanted and needed to be there.  I am so glad that I went, to pay my respects and honor her life.

 

But now I realize I was like a zombie just going through my paces and pretending I was participating in the moment.  I wasn’t.  I wasn’t even there.  And this comes under the heading of those times I have talked about being in shock, or only having energy at first to breath and get through the normal aspects of everyday life. 

 

I guess our brains only let our hearts feel so much pain at a time.  Marilyn had been just about one of the best people I knew.  She spent the majority of her "kids growing up years" as a single mom, working full time, taking care of three children including one with special needs, but always making time and having energy for her friends.  I should have spent that week in May crying my eyes out for her, and shaking my fist at the universe, asking how dare  she be taken away too soon.  But I didn’t.

 

So now it’s three years later and I feel sad…really sad.  Weepy-eyed sad.  There is so much to remember and think about.  Some regrets I didn’t see her more that last year.

 

I didn’t go to her house…

 

But I want her to know I miss her, I loved her, and I think of her often.  I remember her advice and the times we laughed so hard.  And I’m so sorry it took me so long to face all this, but am glad I have let it all in now.  Because even though Erik has permanent residence in my heart at all times, there is room for her there too…and I just smiled thinking about her.