I recently read a story about a woman who after had, 7 years after her husbands death, decided to start dating again. She found a lump in her breast at almost the same time. It was a heartwrenching story about overcoming grief and cherishing what you have at this very moment. I was immediately struck with such a sudden stream of emotions it hit me like a ton of bricks.
I instantly remembered Sam.
It had been a while since I last thought Sam. As I did, a flood of memories washed over me like a soft, warm wave. You know, the kind that can only be felt by those remembering a wonderous childhood memory. The kind you get thinking about a family vacation or a Christmas morning that was so magical and free that it left a physical impression in your memory.
Sam was my best friend. We shared everything in our lives from the age of 12 to the age of 15 when, rather abruptly, we were separated by 1500 miles. For those 3 years though, Sam was the sister I never had. In fact, I spent more nights at her house during those years than I did at my own. We shared everything with each other- clothes, make-up, hair stuff, secrets, laughter. We were inseparable.
Until we separated.
When I moved away we tried to keep in touch. But, as it’s known to do, life quickly got in the way. It wasn’t long before we had completely lost touch with each other. I learned through other friends that she had moved away as well and eventually married after college. I learned through a mutual friend that she and her husband had had a daughter. They named her Lyndsey.
As the years went on I thought of her often but never bothered to attempt to re-connect. Many times I picked up the telephone to find her and call her, only to think of some excuse, some rationalization of why I couldn’t or shouldn’t call- She wouldn’t even know me. What if we have nothing to say to each other? How will I explain why I haven’t conatced her for all these years? With each passing year it became harder and harder to even fathom calling Sam.
Fast forward to 2005. I get a call from another friend. Sam is dead. She was 29 years old and died of cancer. My gut drop to the floor and my hands became instantly clammy. As my heart raced all I could muster in response was “what?” But it was true.
I asked my friend to send me a copy of the obituary notice, almost as if I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it. But when I got it, there was no question. There was her picture- her eyes gleaming and her smile as big as a ship. It was exactly how I remembered her. I realized instantly in that moment that I would never have the chance to call her, to re-connect with her. I was suddenly and totally wracked with grief and guilt.
The obituary mentioned Sam’s daughter and I cried even harder. If I had been a better friend, I could have been there for Sam and her family while they went through her terrible illness. If I had stayed in contact with her, I’d have had the chance to know her daughter. Maybe I could have told her daughter stories about Sam that she’s never heard.
As I enter this holiday season I am reminded of Sam. I am reminded that life, as cliche as this saying is, is truly short. You never know when you may or may not see the ones you love again. You never know when your chance to reconnect will be brutally taken away. I am reminded this season to cherish all those who I care about, to forgive those who have done me wrong, to connect with those who I’ve lost touch with and to honor my family and myself.
If this story finds you, I hope that it will remind you as well to love, honor, remember, and cherish all those you care for and if you’ve lost touch with someone important to you, now is the time to make that phone call. If you’ve done someone a wrong, now is the time to make amends. If you have been wronged, now is the time to forgive and love again.
Now is the time. Tomorrow just may never come.
So long, Sam.
