I miss my friend.

I miss my friend.
She passed away in February of 2008, but I feel like I just talked to her the other day. It makes me sad to think that life has been able to resume normally since she died; shouldn't daily operations have been altered forever in her absence? I logically know life doesn't work that way, but my heart does. I really miss my friend.
From the moment I met her, even before I met her, she was warm and welcoming to me. She made me feel accepted and special and wonderful. She personified grace in every way, and even though the same has never been true for me, she loved me and she showed it unwaveringly.
I have never met anyone who did not like her. Whenever anyone learns of my connection to her, they always respond with, "oh, she was such a sweet lady." And she was- such a lady and so very sweet. She spoke to everyone and wanted everyone to feel taken care of and spoiled. She treated the house painter as she would treat a friend. Everyone was entitled to respect, and she went out of her way to show it.
She loved to throw parties. From big, garish holiday parties, to backyard croquet matches, every detail was thought of- the food, the drink the music. She relished in making sure everyone was having a ball. Truly, nothing made her happier.
She loved her dogs. They were just as much members of her family as anyone. They would follow her around the house all day, and the little one would often ride along on errands with her.
She always was such a classy dresser. She wore bright colors that showed off her dark complexion and she always had her hair and nails done. She had what seemed like millions of different pairs of shoes to coordinate with all of her outfits. Again, no detail was overlooked. In fact, after she died and I was cleaning out her drawers, I was amazed that her drawers were organized by color! It was when she began to put less effort into her daily wardrobe that I realized my friend was really sick.
As wonderful as she was to everyone around her, she did not feel the same way about herself. She never felt good enough. No amount of praise could penetrate the level of disapproval she felt for herself. She constantly tried to ease her hurt with all of the wrong things. She knew it wasn't good for her, but it was what she had. The people who loved her tried everything to help her. Everything. I always hoped that one day I would say something in a way that would really click inside her, and she would be okay. I guess I never did find the right words.
I watched my beautiful, vivacious friend slowly poison herself. This fiercely independent spitfire, became a decrepit and home bound woman, who relied on paid around the clock care. Up until her dying day, I was convinced she would come out of it. If anyone could turn it around, I believed she could. She had been given so many second chances before. I guess we all took for granted the fact that they would one day run out.
The day she died, she didn't open her eyes at all, but she responded to what was being said by smiling and different facial movements. I sat by her side almost the whole day. I talked about funny things that had happened and how silly my kids were. I told her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that I wasn't always the friend to her that I should've been. I held her tiny, little hand and I brushed her hair out of her eyes. When she seemed uncomfortable, I tracked down a nurse to ease her suffering. Maybe I somehow thought that if I was diligent enough, something would change. Maybe I was just so scared about losing her that I couldn't stay still or be quiet. Maybe I was so worried that she was frightened that I wanted her to know that there were people around who loved her and were looking after her.
I was not there the moment she died, but many people who loved her were. She died peacefully and gracefully. And with her dogs.
I miss my friend. In a few months, she will have been dead two years. That thought takes my breath away. How can anyone so full of life, be no longer here? How does that happen? How is that fair?
In the time since her death, I have called on her often. I have heard her voice and seen her smile in my mind a million times. For that, I am so extremely grateful. I hope that I never stop missing her. I don't want to become complacent in my sadness of her passing. She needs to be remembered and talked about. Her good qualities need to go on in the people who loved her, and her illness needs to be etched in our hearts and mind forever. It is crucial we never forget how she suffered, so that we too, will not follow that path. That is what she would want for us. I do know this.
I believe she is looking down on me. I know she can hear everything I am saying now, and she doesn't want me to be sad. I am confident that if she could call me right now, she would try to lift my spirits with some slightly off-color humor and the promise of a lunch out together soon. The thought instantly makes me smile, but also breaks my heart.
Oh, how I miss my friend.