Loss buoyed by earth angels

aka known as my friends

Posted by Colleen on her FB page. From left to right, Pam, Terri, me and Colleen.

When I have completed writing my series The Beginning, I will likely add this post as the final chapter, but will tweak and rewrite it in a third-party voice to match the earlier chapters.

If you haven’t read The Beginning, you can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here, Part 5 here, and Part 6 here.

Rick's mother passed before we were married, so my only mother-in-law was my ex-husband Ron's mother, Loni. At 102, Loni passed earlier this week; though expected, her death has stirred up a whirlwind of emotions.

Twenty years ago, when I went through my divorce, walking away from Loni, a woman who had always treated me with infinite respect and kindness, proved to be terribly difficult. Over 25 years, I can't think of a time when we had any type of falling out, not even during the divorce.

A survivor of the holocaust, she lived life quietly, making family and Jewish holidays her priority, along with her weekly bridge games. Her husband had passed long before I entered the picture. Loni typically exhibited a mild to moderate degree of anxiety and was not prone to public displays of affection. However, she might hold your hand during a service or while walking. Her fidgeting fingers would defy her calm demeanor, exposing her discomfort with closeness yet also highlighting her willingness to share her love despite it. Holding hands was her way of saying I love you, and something I never took for granted.

While I have seen Loni numerous times over the years since my divorce, our visits have been infrequent, and the last time I saw her was a few years back when my son Jordan and I visited. Since then we have spoken on the phone and remembered one another on birthdays.

Her ultimate decline began about a month ago when she became unresponsive for a few days. She rallied and seemed to be improving, but last week, she fell into a coma, which lasted a few days before her passing. I was, thanks to Ron’s wife Estela, able to talk to Loni on speaker phone in the final days. Loni was unable to communicate, but I’m confident she could hear my voice along with my gratitude and love.

During the last five months of political and social upheaval in our country, melancholia has been no stranger. But this past month, the sorrow I’m feeling is different, more profound.

Suzy girl, you're grieving the loss of Loni. She was one of our special gifts to you.

God and the Angels answer me as I’m only forming the question in my mind, “Why am I feeling— “ My shoulders drop, and the tears flow often during the few weeks that it takes Loni to make her way.

As God and the Angels escort Loni home, I find myself driving to Vacaville for a lunch date with my oldest friends, Colleen, Terri, and Pam, who have seen me in every iteration of my life and loved me through all of them.

We knew you'd need something special during this time, so we took a few liberties, pulled a few strings, and brought the four of you together for one of your Vacaville lunches.

As I begin the trip passing through the canyon, my chest is heavy thinking of Loni. Still, I realize how fortunate I am to be able to spend time with my lifelong friends, who know better than anyone how to lift me in times of trouble and, for that matter, in the good times as well. Their presence and understanding always make my burden lighter and the journey more bearable.

We knew your plight and appreciated your willingness to take on this incarnation with Don and Helen, so we sent our very best with these four friends. They came with a lifetime guarantee.

Sitting in the busy Mexican restaurant, we take our customary 45 minutes to decide on our order. With far too much to catch up on, it's difficult to concentrate on the menu. The waitress will return time and time again. (We are sure to tip her well.)

We lunch and laugh, each wearing the bracelet Colleen so graciously gifted us some years ago, which bears the inscription, "True friendship isn't about being inseparable, it's being separated and nothing changes."

My eyes fill with tears a few times during lunch; no one seems to care or even notice these days. We celebrate my granddaughter on the way DUE DATE 17 DAYS AWAY (I'm the last of the bunch to become a grandparent), and they compliment photos of my baby quilt. We catch up on each of our lives and family members, reminiscing about shared memories that bring a sense of nostalgia and connection. We speak of and hold space for our loved ones who are struggling, and we silently and verbally give thanks for one another. A lovely young man watching us trying to figure out how to take a selfie with the Vacaville Cow offers his assistance.

Driving home, my mood is considerably lighter. I reflect on my life, with all its iterations, and I realize that these four women¹ have been the constants through it all. As the bracelet says, despite the distance, nothing changes.

As it turns out, in planning my current incarnation, God and the Angels gave me all I ever needed and then some.

Next Friday is a quiet day. I ask your flexibility in the next few month in terms of my posting as we will be on the fly literally once the baby arrives and are remaining flexible in terms of scheduling. I’m sure I’ll be writing, but my posts will likely arrive scattered and not on my typical days.

1. My first four friends in life were Joan who I met on my first day in kindergarten, followed by Terri, Colleen and Pam when I transferred to a new school in first grade. This story is about Terri, Colleen and Pam, but coincidentally the night before this lunch, I was texting back and forth with Joan about life’s difficult asks. I’m beyond grateful for these four women.