We were not old friends.? A chance meeting brought us together and our relationship developed over a period of two years.? Two small women in our early sixties, with different temperaments and different ways of life.? Still, conversation was easy to us.
She was a widow and lived alone.? My husband and I have children and grand children living near.? For us,? family is a pleasant given.?
At times, I thought she preferred living alone.? Other times, I sensed a loneliness.? She had children, but they didn’t live here.? Anger was there too.? Controlled, but wanting to erupt.? Maybe, at the world in general, for the loss of her husband.
Between us there was a respect for the privacy in each of us – never too much time together – just enough.
Some said she was hard to know – blunt and abrasive.? I found her forthright and honest.
Now she was in the hospital.
“Hi,” I said, standing in the doorway to her room.
“C’mon in,” she answered.
“You sure.”? I hesitated
“C’mon.”
I went into the room and stood at the foot of her bed.? She looked small, in that hospital bed.
“I ordered the Chaplain out of here,” she said, punching at her pillows.
“I heard.”
“Yet, you’re here.”? There was some surprise in her voice.
“I’ll go anytime you say,”? I replied.
“He hovered.? I hate hovering.”? Angry again, just thinking about it, her ruddy complexion got brighter.
The words “fiery” and “spirited” popped into my mind, as they often had before.
One time I called her Cassie.? She whirled on me, her brown eyes flashing and said curtly,? “Nobody calls me Cassie.”? Then, as quickly, came a sheepish grin.
I never called her Cassie again – always wanted to though, just to see those big brown eyes flash fire.
“Stay, I need to talk,” she said.
Cass spoke openly with me – told me she had a cancer.
She siad, “I’m mad and I’m scared – have no control over this.? I don’t like that.? Can’t have surgery – they said chemo.? At first I said no, then decided to do it.? They’ll start when I get out of here.”
After a while, as I was getting ready to leave, she said,? “Come back.”
“Sure,” I said.
I made regular visits, never staying too long.? Each day she got stronger.? The snap in her eyes came back.? Her curly, salt and pepper hair, cut short to frame her face, began to shine again.
The sharp sense of humor was returning.? She still wouldn’t allow the Chaplain in her room.
We spoke of things that interested us both, laughing and joking.? Soon, she was ready to go home.
Time went on and we kept in tough by phone.? I took some books to her home one day.? She was wearing a turban- the lovely hair was gone.? She never said anything and neither did I.? Things blurred on my drive home.
In time, her hair came back, the cancer was in remission and her life became reasonably normal again.? We still spoke on the phone and exchanged books on occasion.? Her candor and humor added a certain spice to my life.? Sometimes she was happier than others, but always interesting.
Another year passed and one day the phone rang – it was Cass.? She said,
“I’m in the hospital again.? Could you come by?”??
As I neared her room, I saw two people leaving.? When I went in, she said with a sigh,? “That was my son and daughter-in-law.? There’s more of my family here, too.? They don’t know what to say and neither do I.? I almost wish they wouldn’t come, but I know they need to.”
I moved over the side of her bed.
“This is it – there’s nothing to do this time.? I feel like driving my car off a cliff.”
I stood there like stone, unable to say a thing – wanting so much to give her some comfort.
“I won’t you know.” she continued.? It’s all so frustrating.? Out of control again.? It’s hard.? I don’t like being unable to control what happens to me.”
Again she sighed.
“It doesn’t matter now, though I guess.? Time is short.? It’ll all be taken care of soon.”
After a short silence, she said.
“Will you stay with me for awhile?? I want to talk.? I want to say what I want, and not have to explain or excuse myself.”
I pulled my chair close to the side of her bed.? She talked until she was exhausted.? Then she reached for my hand and said.
“I’m so glad you came into my life.”
I took her hand and sat there, quiet tears ran down my cheeks, until she went to sleep.? My simple problems fell away with those tears.
I visited Cass everyday, each time waiting until her family left her room.? Sometimes we talked of books and ordinary things – other times we sat in silence.? Two weeks later, with her family around her, she went to sleep and never woke again.
If I were to draw a picture of a life, it would be a free-form circle, starting with birth and meeting at that same point when life ended.? As one progressed around it, there would be twists and turns, corner-like places, and a few jagged edges and ledges, small and large indentations – all of these representing experiences encountered.? Finally, there would be some holes to represent losses.
Far up, in one of the more rounded areas of my life, would be a tiny hole, smooth and even, as though a small rock had passed through it.? Little bursts of light would spurt through this hole, like tiny fireworks.
“Hi Cassie …..? I miss you.”?