She Is Not Gone, She Is Just Away.

  

The past month has been one of the toughest in my life.  My best friend, Rose, passed away on January 10th.  She had battled cancer for the past 11 years, and put up a courageous fight, but in the end, she was so weak, there was no fight left in her.  She passed away peacefully at home, with her children around her, her friends and family hovering over her.  I know this is not how she pictured it happening.  Which one of us is ever prepared to face death?  And this is true, mostly of those who are left behind. 

But it is not her death that I am thinking of.  It is her life.  A beautiful life, although not perfect, lived with courage and love.  She was everything and anything a friend should be, and I was blessed by her presence in my life.  I spent yesterday going through a box of old photos.  What a rich life was recorded there, captured on film, and of course, it made me cry.  

We spent the past 30 years sharing each other’s secret things, each other’s lives, disappointments and accomplishments. She had an uncanny way of knowing when something was wrong with me, even if I was nowhere around her. She knew when I was really sick, or if it was just heartsick.  She had an instinct about the things I was getting myself into.  If she didn’t go along to participate, she would warn me not to do it, and if I did, she would slap me, then kiss me, and call me “Stupe.” We used to sit out on the concrete step in back of our office and talk about growing old together and buying houses next door to each other.  We talked about growing up, about our home lives; we shared our sins and our triumphs with each other.  We rejoiced in each other’s accomplishments, and cried in each other’s sorrows.  We truly became sisters.  We grew so close that we could feel each other, even from miles away.  

We talked so much about the Lord and Heaven this past year that both of us began to think about it. After all, for those who believe in Him, that is our home.  Although she was suffering so much this last year, she wanted to hear about our home.  Just like those days out back of the office talking about making homes here on this earth in this life, we talked about Heaven and what our life would be like there. 

In the past few weeks, since she passed, just a thought about her is enough to send me to the Kleenex box.  A song on the radio, a sunset, the rain, driving to where she lived. It is as if I can still hear her voice. And because we always talked so much to each other, out of habit I found myself talking to her.  I was just looking up at the ceiling and blurted out, “Great, Rose, now I am going to be like Fred Sanford! Talking to the dead!”  

A few nights ago, while sitting on my porch, I was talking to God about how it feels like there is a hole in my heart. A piece is missing.  It would seem that Rose left and took that piece with her. But this time I heard her, distinctly, in that annoyed voice she would get when I just didn’t “get” it.  And she said, “I am not gone! “  
  
Immediately a poem came to mind that my Grandad used to read to me.  I hope after all of this, I now understand the meaning behind it.  I have changed it a little to fit my Rose, Our Rose.  (My apologies to James Whitcomb Riley.) 

Away

I cannot say, and I will not say
That she is dead, she is just away!
With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand
She has wandered into an unknown land,
And left us dreaming how very fair
It needs must be, since she lingers there.
And you-- O you, who the wildest yearn
For the old-time step and the glad return--,
Think of her faring on, as dear
In His love there, as in our love here. 
Where the sweetest love of her life she gave
The touches of her hands have strayed
As reverently as her lips have prayed:
Think of her still as the same, I say:
She is not dead-- she is just away!

Ok, Rose, I get it.  See you later, my Sister!