Vapor

I reconnected with the sister of my closest friend from the 5th grade. She lived up the hill from me in Cuba in the building complex next to mine. Her family moved back to Virginia before mine because her mom had an aggressive cancer. Despite the greatest of efforts over multiple years, her body surrendered to the disease when we were in high school. It was the most dramatic thing to have happened to me at that point of life; I had only known two people to die up until then.

Jennifer and I kept in loose contact over the last 20 years. She and I even worked as clowns for a summer job when I was a freshman in college. She was fun, wonderful, and warm. Her two younger sisters are the same, and it was great to contact her sister last week. The sad part came when she told me that last March Jennifer died in her sleep due to complications with an illness, leaving behind her husband and four children.

Had it been so long that she would have four children? It’s funny how the years fold over themselves; months become years, and one day you find out that someone you loved is gone.

I forget that people die. I assume they will be there as they always have. I forget how permanent and complete death is, though it’s a natural part of life. I spend so much time dreaming of tomorrow and living today; I never spend a thought on what if tomorrow didn’t come for someone I know and love.

I was so grieved to hear of her passing and heartbroken I missed out on the celebration of her life which took place within miles of my home; I went to bed early that night. I was surprised by my reaction. As I swam through the emotions I was feeling, I figured out I felt as if I had missed out on something. I missed out on reconnecting with her; it had been too long, and I missed out on getting to say goodbye.

When Jessica Snead passed I was so grateful for being a part of her passing. I was a part of that story. Maybe it’s more she is part of mine, but with Jennifer our story is long and far-reaching. I don’t know where our story is now. It’s just over. There is no completion. No development to completion – just finished.

Maybe the completion of our story lies simply in the fact that I loved her and will always remember her. I will remember her in our videos we made as kids pretending to be anything else than what we were. I don’t know – I really don’t. I just know I loved her, and I’m so sad she is gone, but so thankful I knew her.