Maybe joy isn't the right word for it, but let's pull a typing out loud as I grapple with this one.
I just found out Karen, a childhood friend of mine, died last year in September 2020.
I'm sad to realize she's been gone that long without knowing. Admittedly, I don't think I've seen her in at least 20 years and we weren't in touch on social media; when reviewing her facebook page, I was surprised to note none of us from grade school were in touch with her.
It is unclear how or why she passed, but that's none of my business; I lost the right to know her private details long ago. But what I did discover is the story of a woman who was strong in her battle with addiction, surrounding herself in prayer and positivity. People were there for her. The photos I found were of someone who loved sunshine and smiles, rock music and flowers, and most of all, her daughters and grand daughters.
She was loved.
I can offer this as way of a memorial that is far too late:
- Memories of your birthday parties where mom Louise made some killer spaghetti;
- Being on the 6th grade bowling team and singing Michael Jackson songs at the top of our lungs in the minivan;
- Making treasures out of cigar boxes in Girl Scouts;
- Riding bikes over to Maria's; and
- The photo of us posing arm in arm in the school basement after confirmation with Rachel and Mina. I thought of you and that photo yesterday, before I knew, and wondered how you were. I hope you are at peace.
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