But while I was out enjoying my Summer of Fun Tour, my friend Karen's time on this Earth ran out. I was in Hollywood when I got the first phone call. She was bed-ridden, I was told. No one knew why. I didn't call her then because I was told her husband didn't want her disturbed. She would get better, I thought. I would get home and call her once she was better. I would listen to some outlandish tale she'd have to tell.
I should've called immediately.
The next call came while I was in Phoenix. She was dead.
I am typing these words and seeing them in print for the first time, and I still can't believe it. She never said a word to me. I never knew she was sick, even though I'm told that she was diagnosed eight months ago with an aggressive form of cancer.
She was the most cheerful person you could ever meet. Perky, even. And I feel like a heel for not knowing, not saying goodbye.
There are no do-overs in death. He comes in and takes what's his, ready or not.
She was too young to die. Or maybe she was just to good for this world.
I am selfish to think of all the time I won't be able to spend with her now that she's gone.
No more crazy discussions of her government paranoia, of vapor trails in the blue sky.
No more laughing at her when she pees herself in the port-o-let and has to hang a shirt around her waist until the evidence evaporates in the hot Texas sun.
No more getting irritated at her for falling asleep on our long, late-night drives back to the city after long days spent scouring for goods in cow pastures.
No more Christmas wreath making on my back patio, where if I searched hard enough, I know I'd find mica embedded in the cement from our last crafty get-together.
No more soup and sandwiches after auction previews on Tuesday mornings.
How do you mourn someone's death when you didn't even know she was dying? When you can't find an obituary? When her voice is still on her voicemail? When you don't know the family well enough to ask questions?
Karen was a bright spot in my life, as I'm sure she was in the lives of so many others. And I don't want to let her go. I don't want to take down the magnet with her photo that sticks to my freezer door, even though the calendar below it ran out of days long before her death.
I don't want to forget her. But I want to learn: To stay in touch. To never put off that phone call.
And I am selfish -- maybe even proudly selfish -- thinking only of my hurting heart. And of this glorious light that is now and will be forever dark.
"An angel got her wings, and we'll hold our heads up knowing that she's fine. We'd all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime. Friends stay side-by-side, in life and death you always stole my heart. You always meant so much to me that it's hard to believe this."
