Dear Linda,
I feel like my chest is filled with ice water. I’m trying to be happy for you, but oh, how I
miss you. You haven’t really been with
us for some time now; you have been slipping inside yourself inch-by-inch, and
it has been very difficult to watch.
Every time I visited you, I would pray for just one more good
conversation. I decided to write you
this letter because words, particularly written words, figure strongly in our
relationship. Over the past month I have
been picking up little occurrences, funny incidents, tiny annoyances, that I
wanted to thread like pearls on the necklace of our conversation, but you have
been unable. It’s okay; I know that
somewhere in your heart and mind, behind and beyond the pain, you wanted that
conversation too. There are so many
things I need to tell you, things I did
tell you over the years we shared, but I want to make sure you know.
You saved my life.
Not my physical life, but the life I live, my day to day, my family, my
mind, and my self.
You were unfailingly supportive of me in every way. You encouraged me in anything I tried to
do. You made me feel like you were my
biggest fan, and that you believed I was able.
When I told you I was toying with the idea of going to Serbia you
immediately said that you thought I should go, so I went. If you had let that pass, I would have let it
pass as well.
You respected me, always.
You liked me for the person I was, and in doing so, you
enabled me to become the person I am, and the person I am becoming. You saw, somehow, that person I was under all
that stuff. It was as if you were seeing
the butterfly inside the caterpillar, or the flower in the seed. And we did see eternity in an hour, didn’t
we?
You trusted me with your own stuff. You trusted me to help you carry your
burdens, and you carried so many of mine.
You encouraged me when I was completely flattened and could
see no hope anywhere.
You were Jesus to me.
You were so full of the love of the Lord that it spilled out of you and
all over me. I would not know Him as
fully or walk as closely with Him if I had not known you. Every good thing in me comes from Him,
filtered through you. You have been His
vessel for me, and for many others.
You laughed. The best
laugh ever. I long to hear it again.
You needed me. You
told me that I was good for you. Once
recently, I came to see you and our other friends were not able to be
there. I explained that they were not
coming, so that it would be just me. You
smiled, and said “just you,” like I had given you a gift. I never felt so loved.
You accepted me without ever
trying to change me.
You had real compassion for me. You got angry, frustrated, and hurt on my
behalf. You also rejoiced with me, and
were proud of me when I did well. You
cried with me and for me. No one had
ever done that. For the first time in my
life, I was worthy of someone’s tears.
You gave me the courage to believe that I am valuable, and
that I have something to offer.
You saw the Lord in me.
You called me a true disciple. My
weak faith took a great leap of growth in that moment, and being His disciple
took on renewed importance that has never left me.
Your friendship has been the great blessing of my life,
shining to illuminate the facets of my other blessings so that I can value them
rightly.
There are so many moments I was looking forward to sharing
with you. I wanted you to celebrate Ben
and Carrie’s wedding with me, to make a fuss over the veil I made for her, to
love her and take her to heart as you have me, to help me love her well. I wanted you to hold and bless my
grandchildren, and teach me how to be a truly great Mimi. I wanted to share their stories with
you. Then I wanted to do it all again
for the rest of my sons. You saved their
lives also, you know, by loving their mother well.
I wanted to continue to talk over every decision with you,
before and after. You have been the salt
in the meal of my life, and just now, I have no appetite for the saltless
remnant.
I am constantly thinking of music I want to share with you,
books I want to discuss with you, and questions I want to ask.
I wanted to help you write your story. We had that planned for the summer, and it
hurts me to leave it undone. Do you
recall when we read and discussed Phantastes in book group? You brought up the passages concerning the
girl who had the lovely globe that was broken by Anados’ Shadow. Later,
as Anados is lying imprisoned, the girl comes to him, bringing the song of
freedom born of her loss. You said that
you hoped to be able to live this way, and I, barely knowing you at the time,
told you that I saw this in you already, that you were doing this very thing
openly all over College Heights. As I
got to know you, I realized that the pattern of your life was this story; you were
the maiden with the broken globe. This
passage so mirrors your life that MacDonald could have written it with you in
mind. You took broken pieces of your
life to your Father, and he gave you a song to carry among prisoners, so that
by your sharing it you might free those who would hear it. You have done that for hundreds of people,
all your life. I cannot begin to
calculate how many souls you sang to freedom, but the Lord knows every one; I
believe you will be presently seeing some of the fruits of your efforts, and
Heaven is full of those who would not have been there if you had not had the
courage to sing your story.
I wanted you to help me through the next thirty years of my
life. How can I navigate without you? I need you to talk me through this great
loss, to cry with me as you have so often.
It is so selfish, I realize, but I want you to take some of this hurt
into yourself as you have every other hurt I’ve ever brought to you, lessening
it so that I can bear it.
A couple of things I did not have opportunity to tell you,
but they are important. I am grieving,
of course, but I am not angry with you for going, or with the Lord for taking
you. I am so glad you are no longer in
pain, physical or emotional, and no longer helplessly dependent. I love picturing you running, or riding your
bike again, with your golden hair streaming.
I love thinking that you are resting now, with no tubes or drugs, safe
in the arms of the One who loves you best.
I suppose it is silly to write all this in a letter, but I
think you understand and are smiling over it.
I will continue to write to you, I’m sure, because I cannot imagine
stopping. I believe you will know; our
Father will let us continue to love one another. Sharon and I got you sunflowers as our
offering to your memory. We were
contemplating red roses, because they symbolize love stronger than thorns. Sharon pointed out that we all brought our
own thorns. Boy, did we! But our love has been stronger.
I believe you were sent into my life because our Father knew
I needed you, and you have put down roots in my heart that can never be removed
while I live. I will love you and
treasure your friendship all my life.
I’ll be along directly, my friend; save me a seat.
