Those were the first words I heard you say. “Where’s the goddamn coffee?!”
We were both residents on a psych ward at a private hospital. I think I pointed to the machine and you poured a cup and sat down. Your name was Jo Anne.
You looked old and weathered and raw. Hard and lean. You were smoking Dorals. I winced, but bummed one anyway.
We would spend many hours over coffee and cigarettes the next few weeks. We were the same age after all, but you had earned the right to look weathered. You shared stories of storms and survival that I could not imagine.
The most heartbreaking one was when your son burned to death in the car accident. After the car had been “officially” cleaned out, you went back through what remained yourself. You did not want even one tiny fragment of his body to be overlooked. I can’t imagine such courage.
One of the funniest stories was about when you divorced your husband but he got the house. You asked the judge if you could have anything that you put into the house and he said you could. So you tore out the kitchen cabinets, windows, some of the walls, some flooring, and some of the doors. You put 'em in so you took 'em out. We laughed so hard. God, that was funny.
After we left the hospital, you got lost one night in Nashville and you called and we had to find you and keep you from panicking. And there was the night that you were at the hotel drunk and we had to convince the desk clerk that you were thinking about suicide. That was scarey.
But you joined AA and flat out quit drinking. I was so proud of you every time you would get a medal. And you got your mate off of crack too. Stuck it out with him through the hard times. Both of you stayed sober.
Some of the best times I’ve had were when you were here sitting on my front porch. You sure could put away that Diet Coke! But we would talk all afternoon about grandchildren and our guys and our lives.
One day you gave me several bags of jewelry. Some of it belonged to your mate’s relatives and some belonged to your people. You didn’t like wearing jewelry. But one of the things that you gave me that day is a symbol of how deep our friendship has run and I will treasure it all the days of my life. It was the class ring that belonged to your son – the one who died in the accident. Thank you for wanting me to have it.
You gave up your last struggle with life on Thursday morning. When you went to bed the night before you just told your mate that you felt awfully tired. You’ve donated your body to science. You didn’t want to be any trouble or expense.
I will miss you, old friend. You taught me many things. I will love you always.
“May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light wihin you guide you all the way home.”