Going, Going,Gone

The first time a friend dies, it's hard. There may be tears either copious or not, but what is worse, is the remembering. Pictures of what you and your friend did together or in company with others come into your mind for a very long time afterward. Those who have gone on ahead, take with them your memory, theirs, denied you. As, one by one, your friends leave the earth, you do also. You, then, are left with the job, the honour, of keeping sacred memories of "the way it was". Recently, a very fine lady out of my past, died. Her method of coping with difficulties was to laugh. Her unforgettable tinkling laughter  arose from of the middle of her being and came out in gleeful, melodious bars of delight. She used the same laughter for all occasions, even the bad ones that needed banishing. During our young days before our collection of children happened but university, jobs and weddings came in that order, we played cards or cooked our versions of gourmet dinners or just had evenings to sit, sip and chat, we exchanged all kinds of  intimate feelings. Later on, we women met with our babies in tow, to talk over ideas on Spock's book and to compare our childrens' developmental issues and successes. Then the complications of job related matters became tantamount as some of us were transferred to far away places and others rose or fell into various distant social spheres. When our kids went off to school, we kept up with letters and notes at Christmas time or called in while on holidays. Somehow most of our group of six or so, did stay in touch. We empathized when divorces, child illnesses and spousal difficulties ensued. Much later, there was retirement and travel and offspring successes to report. Grandchild excitement happened and pictures were sent. The photos caused "wow does she/he look old now" comment. Then came the sicknesses, deaths in the broader family and lastly, deaths of the people in our group itself. What we were really looking at was the highway of life. Sadly, a friend of long ago, just died. She struggled with the help of her family and medical team, for a number of weeks before she gave up her life to seek rest. Her path had been an ambitious course that resulted in giving joy not only to her family but to scores of strangers. Her  artistic talent rendered delightful, colourful vignettes of ordinary life but which were actually her own vision, her "take" on it. She took its humour and poignancy in her sights and let it flow through her paint brush. She made it a successful venture as well. Her life was an example of how everyone should make what is waiting just beyond our reach and all that is within it, precious, before we have to give it all up.  Farewell Vivian, dear old friend. Well done.