I've been considering starting a blog for some time, and decided to start with this. I wrote it to deliver at the funeral of my lifelong friend. Slight edits have been made from that version to remove names, etc from this public version.
I’ve known Karen since I was six years old. At that time, she was much older than me. She was seven. Our families had just built houses and moved into a new subdivision. Our street was a short little “L” shaped street with seven houses on it. Mine was the last house on the straight up and down part, then the “corner” house, and hers was the first on the “foot” part of the “L”. We lived two houses apart, but because of the turn in the street, our houses faced different directions.
Karen loved to tell about the first time we met. In fact, she even mentioned it in a comment on Facebook about two weeks ago. She said, “I remember trying to get you to play hopscotch on the sidewalk with minimal success.” We met on that sidewalk, in front of her house, around Labor Day in 19xx. She was playing hopscotch, and I must have come outside and seen her. She began talking to me about hopscotch and dolls and such. I didn’t relate to that, being a tom-boy who was into sports. Yet even with differences so striking that she still talked about them, somehow a friendship was formed.
I have many, many memories of Karen growing up… One of the last times I talked to Karen, we were talking about snow, and how we’d played in the snow and gone sledding a lot as kids. She reminded me how we’d used bread bags between layers of socks to keep our feet warm and dry, and that kids now have much fancier things to wear in the snow. Other memories include playing in the woods behind her house, exploring neighborhood creeks, sitting on top of the swingset in my backyard, climbing trees in Tower Grove Park while her parents played tennis, swimming with Karen and her cousin S., ice skating… we took ice skating lessons as teenagers at the newly opened recreation complex… and sleepovers… too numerous to count, usually at her house, sometimes at mine, and occasionally in one of our back yards. Last September we roomed together on the ladies retreat with our church. It reminded us of when were kids in twin beds in her bedroom. We talked about how fun it was to do another sleepover, two nights in a row this time. I think she fell asleep first that time too.
Earlier, I mentioned Karen’s favorite story to tell about me. My favorite story to tell about her is illustrates another of our differences, having to do with food preferences. I loved steak. Karen, not so much. She’d rather have a hot dog than steak, which drove her mom nuts. Eventually, her mom began inviting me for dinner when they had steak, letting Karen have her hot dog, and giving the steak to someone who appreciated it.
Growing up, Karen’s family were campers, taking many weekend camping trips in addition to a longer summer vacation, always, or nearly always camping at or near national parks or monuments. I loved getting postcards from all the cool places they visited. As we grew older, I was invited along on many of these trips, and the highlight… a trip to the Rocky Mountains. Karen had just graduated from high school, and was about to start nursing school, and I was beginning my senior year of high school. Thinking back on those trips, I fondly remember long car rides around southern Missouri, beautiful scenery, camping, canoeing, jumping off the cliffs at Johnson Shut Ins, hiking in the Rocky Mountains in a drizzly rain… I wouldn’t have been able to do most of those things if her family hadn’t taken me along on so many excursions and vacations. Thank you, K. I still appreciate it, probably even more than I did as a child.
Once we hit college and adult life we didn’t see each other as often. I married and had children, she went to nursing school, diverted briefly to Cape Girardeau, then finished up nursing school before going into the Air Force and moving to Dayton. When she got out, she went back to school to study occupational therapy in Michigan, and eventually winding up back in St. Louis. Sometimes we’d go years without seeing one another, but the bond remained. We’d pick up where we’d left off and update the other on our various family members. Karen loved to talk about her children, um, I mean, her dogs, Ben, Trixie, and most recently Shelby and Luigi. I’d thought there was a cat, too, and talking with her dad last night, he confirmed. When Karen’s mom got sick, she quit her job, gave up her cat, and devoted herself to caring for her mom until she passed.
Karen loved her mom, who was an amazing woman. Karen spoke fondly of her dad, loved to tell me about his photography. She loved him, and knew that he loved her. One of the last things she talked to me about was her dad and how she enjoyed talking to him.
Karen also loved to talk about her brother, sister-in-law, and their sons, and how tall the boys are. She would recently remarked that we were probably the only people who still call her brother M. But from what I heard last night, there are others! Karen loved you guys, loved hearing from you, and spending time with you
Karen spoke often of her aunts, and her cousin S. and her family. She would talk about different friends frequently, and often about J. It was easy for me to tell that she cared about each of you.
The last few years we saw each other more often, and Karen began coming to church with me, so we saw each other regularly. We’d grown up in different churches, hers Lutheran and mine Catholic, and had similar wanting to know God more searches in our teens. I remember one time we went to a nearby Baptist church to see what that was like, even going up for the altar call. At about the same time, each of us encountered groups of friends who told us more about Jesus, and in those years we’d visit each other’s prayer groups or go to church together.
Last year we found some unusual common ground. We both had a series of health issues, and both lost our jobs. She would often call to ask how I was doing, how my job search was coming or to tell me about a job opportunity she’d found in my field. Karen was a thoughtful and compassionate friend.
In December I drove Karen to have a medical procedure. I was going to be waiting for her and taking her home afterwards, and decided to tell them I was her sister rather than explain the long term friendship. I told her about it afterwards, not entirely sure how she would react. She was thrilled, and thought it described the relationship perfectly. A few weeks later she came with me to a family party at my daughter’s house, where she enjoyed catching up with some of my siblings and their families. As we talked to my niece, we were surprised to find that she’d had a class with Karen’s nephew.
I’m going to miss Karen. But I’m comforted, knowing that I’ll see her again. And I’m glad for her, that she is now with Jesus, whose love for her is beyond compare. She’s been reunited with her mom. And she’s free of the health issues and the cares of this world that pressed heavily on her. She’s in a much better place.
As it rained one morning Biba (Mike &
Amy’s adopted daughter) told us that the Burkinabe love the rain and often go out
in it and dance. It was a foreign concept to me, but as we watched Biba’s joyful
and exuberant dance in the pouring rain, her appreciation of the life and vitality
and refreshing, a new appreciation dawned on me. The rain brought life to the plants,
and by extrapolation, to the people. This rain brought refreshing, cooler temperatures,
and quieted the dust. Before our eyes was an example of living water bringing life,
refreshing, and newness of life to a dry and weary people. Truly this rain was something
to be celebrated.
