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I lost two friends recently, one after a year long illness and the other out of the blue, a sudden, tragic accident.

My friend who died this week from illness was in his seventies, big and tall with curly gray hair. He loved good food and wine and was a great host. Many times I’d watch him hold a glass of burgundy to the light studying color and clarity. He’d stick his nose inside, breathing in aromas and subtle scents only he could discern.

Finally, he’d swish the liquid in his mouth before taking a sip. He’d close his eyes with pleasure, a happy man.

My other friend was in her fifties. She was tall and thin with auburn hair and a quick, strong laugh. Our children played together over twenty years ago. My son’s first trick or treating experience was with her boy. We stood smiling on the sidewalk, watching our four year-olds knock on the doors, candy bags clutched in hand.

Later she made cappuccinos while the kids poured out their treasures, faces pink with excitement. Her sudden death this year on a beautiful September afternoon came as a shock.

Although I didn’t see them often, I find it strange they’re gone. If I wanted to pick up the phone and call, they wouldn’t be there.

Like actors on a stage they took their bows and made their exits. They lived out their allotted time. And like all living creatures, I’m left wondering where they went.

We hear about death each day, most of the time far away, but sometimes it draws closer. After my second friend died, I saw how human concerns seem trivial, but are somehow comforting.

How’s that new food delivery service? Should we trade in our son’s car? What’s the best company for an energy audit? Bills need to be paid and errands run and the house cleaned. The deceased are free of all that.

Now in fall, days are getting shorter and colder. Leaves once green have lived out their lives, swirling down in golden spirals. With death comes a renewed appreciation for friends and loved ones.

We’re all we’ve got left, like survivors huddled together on an island.

Someday we’ll each take our bow and make our exit.

But in the meantime, all we can do is live life and enjoy — laugh deep and strong like her and hold up wine to the light like him. Take a sip and close our eyes.

 

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Comments(24)

  1. So sorry for your loss Laurie. That was a moving tribute.

  2. Thank you, Ann.

  3. Very sorry for the loss of your friends. I had three friends die unexpectedly in a 9 month period and the grief was crippling to say the least. I felt like I could picture your friends in my head as I read about their traits and characteristics. You described them well. Thanks for sharing.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Kristi, Its still a shock these friends are gone, even several years later. So sorry for your three friends as well. Nine months is a very short time frame for that kind of loss.

  4. Sorry to hear about your friends passing Laurie. Never easy, even if expected. But yes, it is a very good reason to remember to enjoy and appreciate those left among us AND to treasure every single day.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Kathy, Its true. I see how fast things can change, alarmingly so. All we can do is enjoy what we have while we have it.

  5. I’m sorry to hear about your friends. I lost a good friend several years ago to a quick illness that she just never recovered from. It’s a shock to lose anyone but losing someone who should have many years left is even more so. It certainly changed the way I view life and birthdays.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Shelley, My female friend’s passing was especially shocking, happening on a beautiful September day. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re right, these things make us look at our lives differently and see how fragile they really are.

  6. I am so sorry for the loss of both of your friends. I lost a dear friend in June – suddenly to an accident. It’s jarring and surreal. Agree – it shows how trivial the daily trials and errors of life can be and yet that is part of living. I wish you solace.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Bryce, Thank you and so sorry for the loss of your friend. My friend’s death was also sudden and shocking. It still gives chills.

  7. It’s so hard to lose the people in our lives. July is always a hard month for me because I lost my two best friends in this month. One to a stroke at 41 & the other committed suicide in her late 30’s. It still gets to me and it’s been years. Life never stops moving even when you want it to just stand still for a bit.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Rena, Wow. Those were two hard blows. So sorry for your losses.

  8. This was beautiful. Thanks for sharing. I heard a song this morning in the car that reminded me of my dad and I cried. He’s been gone almost 5 years and this was the first time I was moved to tears in over 6 months. Mind you that first year I cried every day. I think of him every day and smile, but today I cried.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Lauren, So sorry about your dad. I lost mine four years ago and strangely enough, also cried the other day over a song in the car — “Teach Your Children Well” by Crosby, Stills, & Nash. Brought me right back to those sweet days of youth.

  9. So sorry to hear about your friends. The older we get the more we experience losses. It isn’t easy.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Rebecca, So very true.

  10. Beautiful tribute to your wonderful friends, Laurie!
    It’s never easy to say goodbye, even for (as I believe) just a short time.
    I also believe that, as they leave us, there are others watching them arrive.
    I get great comfort from the words of Henry van Dyke:

    I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
    spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
    for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
    I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
    of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
    Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
    Gone where?
    Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
    hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
    And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
    Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
    And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
    there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
    ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
    And that is dying…

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Diane, That’s so beautiful and comforting. I also believe there’s so much more to “the beyond” than we can imagine. Thank you for this.

  11. Such a loving, beautiful tribute, Laurie!
    In reading this, I realize that your friends had learned to SAVOUR life.
    That is something I’m determined to do! Savour. Enjoy those moments. Slow down.
    Live each one. Anticipate.
    Rejoice!
    Thank you for this today!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 2 years ago

      Diane, It’s a lesson we all need, and alas, one we often learn when someone passes.

  12. I could so relate to this Laurie. Thank you.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 2 years ago

      Carol, thank you!

  13. beautiful tribute.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 months ago

      Pennie, Thanks so much.

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