Last week I shared the story of my long-time friend, Cinda, who passed away on Easter morning and I received a bounty of heartfelt responses. Thank you! The people we love and who love us, the critters, the flowers on the window sill, the fresh strawberries in a bowl, the long-lived relationships, the bucks in the bank, the insights we file away on mental post-its—they come and they go. It seems like there is a little goodbye in every hello.
Thank goodness for denial, huh! But when we lose a friend, denial crashes into pieces. At least for a while…And I am reminded, in my gut, that friends are our treasures and if we are lucky, they hold up a mirror so we can see something new and good about ourselves. Too.
“Till the first friend dies, we think our ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as yet unknown.” Emily Dickinson
My husband Craig and I just returned from performing and teaching at the Reno Ukulele Festival and to tell you the truth, I was stunned to meet so many people who already receive AND read my blogs. They stop me in the elevator at the Nugget Hotel and by the slot machines, in Rosie’s Cafe and in the bathroom, to share a few words. About their friends, about how it is for them. Saying goodbye is “our” story.
After the big concert Saturday night in the Celebrity Showroom, as Craig and I are standing sentry at the “CD’s For Sale” table, I see my ukulele friend Tonya, who lives in Paradise, California (yes…there is a paradise). We talk about my blog and friendship. I tell her that I am beating myself up because after thirty years, it seemed like I hardly knew Cinda at all. During her memorial service, family and friends spoke eloquently about her jobs and volunteer work, how she ran in so many circles and was beloved by those who ran in those circles with her. I didn’t know this stuff. And I wish I had.
Tonya reminds me that we mean different things to different people. Do we have the same relationship with a spouse that we do with a friend, or child, or…? Actually it’s a good thing, a life-affirming thing to discover the “great big-ness” of who we really are. It’s just too bad it has to happen at a memorial service.
When we’d get together, Cinda and I would talk about “girly” stuff. We knew we weren’t going to solve our problems, but talking about it over chicken tortilla soup at Hof’s Hut made us feel better, so what the hell. I also gave Cinda piano and ukulele lessons so she could get out there and perform because she was a natural, a born entertainer. Eventually she did gigs in convalescent hospitals and retirement homes. I reminded her that “the audience won’t remember what you sing or play, but they will remember how you made them FEEL.” Maybe that is why her attitude of “joy” will live on in the hearts of those who knew her.
And here’s a blast of joy for you to take into your heart:
This is the link to a short YouTube video of Cinda, taken three months before she passed away, playing the ukulele and singing her “gender-bending” version of “Five Foot Two.” Another gift from Cinda. It will make you smile.
Cali
Hi Cali–thanks for sharing more of your happy and poignant memories and thoughts of your dear friend, Cinda.
Several years ago, I lost one of my very best friends (who was my nextdoor neighbor in an Internment camp–in Canada). She lived across the country–in Toronto–and phoned me one night because the elevator–next to her apartment–had broken down and it made an irritating noise that kept her awake all night–so we just talked the whole night through–remembering fun days and sharing family news–and laughing a lot. She had breast cancer–and I did not realize it was at such a serious stage. She said “If I could only have 2 more years.” It wasn’t to be. She died about 2 weeks later. I miss her. We kept in close touch over the years. We could talk for hours–about everything–and nothing.
We are all the richer for having warm friendships–and they live on in our memory. Immortal.
Best–Lucy