What do you say when a friend is taken so suddenly? We were not bosom buddies. We were living on the same street. She moved in a year after me. I remember the day, because it was right after Christmas, and I took a tray of sandwiches and desserts to her. Easy for me. We had had a Christmas reception/open house for my son and his new wife so that our friends here in Bowling Green, KY could meet them. They had married in Bolivia and so we wanted to introduce our new daughter to all our friends here. So it was no effort on my part at all to bring her some food.
I remember her thankful smile and her bewilderment that befalls all of us who are in the midst of a move.
Pam and I started walking in the morning together but her schedule and my sleeping late! soon curtailed that. She joined the Newcomers Club that I was active in, and she made friends left and right. Pam loved books so the book groups within the Newcomers soon had her presence. Pretty soon she was Co-Chair and kept all the paperwork straight for our monthly Book Discussion Group. She also joined our Volunteer Group at the Kentucky Museum Library on Western Kentucky University's campus. She couldn't meet as easily on Wednesdays as some of us could, and so she switched to Tuesdays on her own and worked tirelessly on special collections, old children books, architectural drawings etc.
She became involved with the Hobson House at Riverview which is a beautiful Victorian Home here in Bowling Green that was started just as the Civil War broke out.
Pam had just joined my evening Book Group I belong to, at my urging. Pam was the type of reader that absorbed so much and then very quietly shared her insights. She was such a counterpart to me. I'm jumping in, running my mouth off, always quick with an observation. Pam sat back, urged others to share, and then dropped a pearl of wisdom into the pool of our thoughts. I loved her for that. I envied her surety. I admired her quiet convictions.
Last Monday night we went to the Words and Wine group I urged her to join. She had participated at my house the month before. We drove up to the hostess's house and Pam stopped to stare at the house. Her eyes misted over. She told me it was a replica of the house she had grown up in. And it reminded her of all she missed: her parents, the life she had lived in her home in Lexington. Once again, she shared her insights on our book, Mr. Pip. She had loved it and was full of questions about how we had felt. That was the Pam I grew to know and love. "Oh, Mary Lou....." that's how so many of our conversations began.
We talked about our gardening, our kids. We kidded each other about who was away more from our homes: me with my summers in Massachusetts or her heading back to Lexington or Indiana to visit family. And we acknowledged to each other how blessed we were to be able to go see family.
I'm still numb to the fact that this woman who I saw once or twice a month is gone. I do not have the depth of loss that so many people here in town have. But a loss is a loss, is it not? A vibrant, young woman has left so many. As one woman said to me when I called her with the news: "She has left a huge hole."
Pam, my friend, thank you for all you gave me and all you were. If you have taught me anything, it's to be authentic. Stay true to who I am. Don't waste time on matters that don't matter. Cherish life. For you have shown that it is fragile and brief and we have an obligation to make it count. I will miss you.
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