Start at the Heartbeat

The year? Around the early 2000’s.

The year a communication tool, a machine called an “answering machine” was a house assistant to all incoming messages. A handy little desktop block of a box that would record incoming message from the outside world—friends, foes, solicitors, and wrong numbers. Sometimes the dreaded hang up. If one was really rich and wealthy in all things technical, there was even a “Caller ID (identification) wherein the number would tell the receiver, the us, who was calling. If you were good at remembering numbers, that is.

A robotic message taker, if you will, to help us in our daily manage of the ins and the outs of our circle of real friends in our circle of life. Handy and convenient when we were “out and about” taking care of our important business of the day and days. Errands, school runs, doctor visit. The answering machine recorded the caller who would leave an either long run on message, like “Hey it is so and so, gimme a call, I want to discuss, blah, blah, blah and blah.” Or record a more succinct person who would simply say, “Call me.”

Happy news. Sad news. Business news.Boring news. The robotic house helper would keep track of it all.

One a cold, snowy and wintry day after the start of the new year I arrived home one day to a voice.

My childhood friend. Although we were no longer kids, we had, by God’s grace remained friends through the years. We did not lose touch. With one another’s chosen company, we beared witness to endless days in the street playing kickball, early years of learning the “ropes” of appropriate drinking age revelry. After Christmas girls Christmas parties with the white elephant exchanges and as time went by more talking and less babbling. Staying up until the early hours of the morning. Just hanging out.

Summer time baseball games. Later years found us celebrating together the giddiness of falling in love, good marriages, healthy children arrivals, job woes, the price of groceries, and exchanging information about current ailments.

When I arrived home that depressing winter, I had a message from my friend. My assistant the answering machine recorded her voice for me. I could not bring myself to delete the message for a very, very long time.

A very long time.

Too soon,

Not enough time.

Space, time and distance had caused us to be apart at a time when the struggle was too great for anyone to bear, let along deal with in the most adult way.

Cancer eventually took her voice to heaven, but not before some lessons about the preciousness of life were learned when someone is taken from this life too soon.

Too soon.

Not enough time.

As I listened to the message, it was just like old times. Except it was not old times. “Hey, it’s me, I have been wanting to chat, call me when you can.” I sat down at the chair next to the answering machine and just took a deep breath and sobbed for a second. This not old times. This was a new time. A bad time. A bad time for our friendship because the news was shared and the knowing was scary. This cancer “was not good.” Not that any cancer is good. The kind eating away at my friend was eating away at all who loved her.

”Why do bad things happen to good people.” My friend and I would talk about from time to time before this moment. Before I gathered the courage to call her back, I wondered why I was losing courage while was fighting the battle. This thought was blaring in my brain, blaring in my mind. Cancer is that scary. That insidious.

Cancer is not selective about who it takes as its prisoner of fear and uncertainty.

My friend, a young mother of three and a beautiful person of love and light. Now. The fight of her life. I wanted to pick up the phone and call and be strong and not blabber on, which I was fairly sure, as usual, she would end up trying to make me feel strong.

I did not want to do that. It was my turn to be strong for her. And while all I could do was think selfishly about missing her because the prognosis was not good. You see. Hers was a cancer that was considered “silent.” And. It hit her hard and it hit her fast. Her fight against it was valiant and so unbelievably her as she always had a strength of character and a strength of friendship I try to emulate to this day.

I gathered my feelings together. And as I thought, this seems so “normal” to just pick up the phone and call. This was far from normal. So, I cleared my throat, picked up the phone and dialed her back.

”Do not cry,” I scolded myself while the ringing was connecting to her.

”Hello.” “Hi, it’s me!” I tried to sound and say cheerfully. We exchanged the usual social pleasantries and what once was so normal was now awkward. Cancer is a far reaching bully that wrecks so much more than the person if inflicts it insidious tentacles upon.

Her voice was her voice, although it was growing weaker. She invited me to her home “any day” to just sit and chat. Just be. “The door is open, just walk in.” She said. Her treatments were no longer working, so time was all that was left.

Too soon.

Not enough time.

”Yes.” “ I will see you tomorrow!” I said. “ I will bring McDonalds!” She laughed weakly and said. “Sounds good.” Ironic. Overtime the food at the Golden Arches was taken to task and considered not a healthy option. Now. What was the difference, cancer had made its call on my friend and hope was fading into the past.

Too soon.

Not enough time.

I arrived at her house and was taken aback at the ravage that was taking her away from all of us. I tried desperately to keep my poker face on and not react. My once able bodied friend could no longer walk. Her thinness was shocking. Her spirit was as strong as ever. Once again, she was trying to make me feel better.

We sat. We did not speak, We just held hands. Watched a little tv. She was so much smarter than me, too. When the small chat subject of directions came up, we were to head to a local tournament over the weekend, I said I had no idea where it was. My friend knew exactly and rattled off the directions exactly and specifically.

”Thanks.” I said. She was beginning to doze off, and I knew it was time to leave. She was sleeping now and I just squeezed her hand and said,

”Goodbye.”

I cried all the way home knowing that would be our last time “just hanging out.”

After our visit, some days later, God called her home. A blessing in that she was no longer suffering. A heartbreak because she is gone. I visit her every year and just “hang out” with her in a different way now.

For a long time, I saved the answering machine message with her voice asking for us to just “talk.” Over time, it brought me a sense of peace and quiet. A serene feeling of calm in knowing the good memories we shared were real and meaningful.