If the river can bend

so can we... part one

Photo by John Lord Vicente on Unsplash

Writing about friendship is a subject worth returning to time and again. A history crowds my thoughts urging my fingers to make their way across the keyboard, a story I began writing on my blog before I moved it to Substack. A number of my readers may have read the original posts, but for this series I have condensed and rewritten portions of them and will add a “happy ending.” Who couldn’t use that about now?

Like any great saga about friendship, this one involves connection, love, loss, and healing. While my story centers on one friend, its roots stretch to several loved ones, and its continuation involves new souls. 

Let’s take our time over a few weeks, and capture the essence of this poignant story. For this series, I’ll write to Elton John’s If the River Can Bend. I’ll quote Elton’s lyrics throughout in the centered quotes and link the video and lyrics below.

Shall we?

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I fight to catch my breath, standing on the front porch. My eyes pool with tears as I listen to my friend on the other end of the phone. Cindi, a nurse/hospice worker/now physician’s assistant, asks when I last spoke with Carrie. She has heard a rumor— Carrie has passed from cancer.

Carrie has cancer?

My brain races back to the last time I heard from Carrie. While I can make no sense of Cindi’s words, the skies dull, and I somehow know Carrie is gone.

How could my friend die from cancer without me knowing she was ill?

Our history morphs instantly from a happy memory into a painful wound.

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Let me introduce you to my lovely friend, Carrie.

Cheers to you, Carrie!

Carrie and I met in our early thirties; our children attended preschool together. This 3-year-old class was blessed in that the teacher was amazing, and the children and parents bonded early on. It was a toss-up who enjoyed who more, the kids or us moms. Our small group consisted of four mothers: Carrie, Mindy, Cindi, and me. Together, we had nine children in different grades.

Our girls from left to right, Natalie, Taylor and Amy. Mindy is behind Amy with the bright white collar. This photo captures the delight we all shared with each other.

Our connection was filled with sweetness from the parents down. I don’t remember cattiness or competition. I remember camaraderie, laughter, and the ability to share our sorrows and fears. We shared motherhood in its early stages, birthday parties, worries about everything under the sun in terms of our littles¹, and lucky enough to enjoy a weekend away at the infamous Claremont Club and Spa in Berkeley.

But, our small tribe would face a significant loss, as Mindy would develop brain cancer and die before our children ever graduated from preschool. The experience bonded us.

Upon preschool graduation, as our children entered elementary school, social paths were lost and new ones forged. Cindi actually bought a home on my street to continue our journey. (This is a story for a future post.)

For the most part, Carrie and I lost touch during the school years as our children were not in the same school district, actually a 30-minute drive away. We reunited fifteen years ago.

My life changed drastically over the years. I had divorced. I found myself in her neighborhood working on a landscape. I took a chance and knocked on her door. By this time, Rick and I had fallen in love.

We reunited as if no time had passed. Paul and Carrie embraced Rick, and we revived the connection. I enjoyed all her same sweet personality traits… the way she told a funny story, often giggling while speaking, her fabulous sense of humor, and the look in her eye as she finished the tale, asking only with her expression for your take on the hilarious narrative she had just shared with you.

Carrie and Paul visited Rick and me somewhere near the end of 2016. We enjoyed a great weekend hiking. I would learn that shortly after their visit, Carrie was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer just as my mom began her final decline. Our lives went in separate stressful directions. We had never cultivated the type of friendship that required constant contact. Instead, we enjoyed a bond that always passed the test of time. And Carrie, in her quiet way, would leave with as little fanfare as possible.

I took Carrie’s death hard, not having had the chance to nurture her, bring her chicken soup, cry together, assuage her fears about Paul and the kids managing after her passing, and maybe most importantly, tell her how much our friendship had enriched my life.

Carrie’s celebration of life occurred sometime later in a perfect location in Sausalito, California, a small gathering spot that dawned eclectic artwork on the walls. Carrie loved the arts. I spoke briefly at her funeral about my misgivings for not having been there in her final days. Numerous members of her loving family approached me afterward, reassuring me that Carrie had confidently made a choice to die quietly with the least amount of commotion possible. While it would take me some time to accept, I would, in time, have to admit to myself that I likely would make a similar choice.

All the twists and turns
We've made together
All the boats you rocked
With your harmony

If the river can bend
I'll find you waiting

Part 2 next week.

Lyrics If the River Can Bend - Elton John

I don't know what to say
I don't know where the light shines
It's a grey dawn rising on a green hill
And there's so much behind us

I don't know where we go
I sure feel there's something out there
There's a great awakening and a new morning
And your spirit's pounding loud and clear

If the river can bend
I'll find you waiting
Home at last from the wild sea
All the twists and turns
We've made together
All the boats you rocked
With your harmony
If the river can bend
If the river can bend
If the river can bend
If the river can bend

Come and embrace the struggle
But win or lose we live here
Build a new beginning on an old rock
Breathe deep of the sweet fresh air

If you know someone who might find comfort in this story, please share it.

1. My friend Mickey often calls her grandchildren “the littles.” It delights me.