My First Thoughts

It happened a few weeks ago. She died at 49.


I’m 49. I could die.

She died of liver disease. She was my high school pal and college roomie.

I could die of liver disease. Those were my first thoughts.

When she was diagnosed we talked on the phone. The doctor told her she had less than six months to live and her liver was functioning at less than 10%.

Her voice shook and I could hear her taking a deep inhalation before she spoke,

“Robyn, do you think it’s better to know that you are going to die at a certain time of a certain illness or do you think it would be better not to know?” The air was quiet between us on the phone line. She added, “I don’t know the answer; but, I’ve been thinking a lot about it.” Taking a deep breath I began, “Well, knowing is kind of a gift. You have time to say goodbye and to have conversations that you need to have. For example, I was really mad at you. You let me down and I didn’t understand why you blew me off the Friday before our reunion. Now, I understand. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I thought of me and how you let me down. I’m sorry I didn’t help you. I’m sorry I turned my back on you. You needed me. You needed help a long time ago. You reached out to me several times and I pushed you aside like you were a weak animal in the wild. I left you. I’m sorry I didn’t know how bad you were.” She said three words and meant every one of them, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you. I’m going to miss you. Hell, I do miss you. You’ve been gone for a long time already.” She started to cry and her voice pitched higher, “Yah, I have. I’m sorry.”

Linda and I spoke a few more times before she died. The last time we talked she told me what she looked like. I told her I was not going to come visit her. I couldn’t see her like that. I wanted to remember her young, alive, beautiful and sparkling. Again, I was being selfish.

Now that she is gone, I can’t help but think of her. Even when we weren’t in touch I thought of her and then I would get an email or a call out of the blue. A song would remind me of her, or I’d find an old photograph or a letter. She and I were held at gun point in the Bahamas when we were in a dingy close to a little island near Nassau. We were on stage with Willie Nelson and hung out with just him at a little bar at OSU when he finished his concert. I want to remember taking signs in Avon Lake one night that had the letter “L” on them. A group of us took as many as we could find from front yards all along Lake Road. We said we were “L” Friends. Life was exciting with Linda.

I can still hear her voice with its slur and the inhalation like it was hard for her to breathe and that’s not what I want to remember. I want to remember her thick blonde hair and how she bubbled over with life. “L” Friends forever, Linda.