Yesterday, while my husband and I were driving home from an early evening appointment, a bird hit the windshield where I was sitting. From the size of the smear, despite the bird going up and over the roof of the car after hitting the windshield, I was pretty sure the bird was no longer among the land of the living. I can't recall that ever happening before and it was jarring. My first thought was, someone might consider that an omen.
Specifically, my friend of more than a decade Micki* would. (*as ever, I do not use real names in my posts). Micki is a deeply religious and spiritual person. She would see signs of spirit, of deceased loved ones, of evil, and so on depending on what was going on in her life. When we worked together, which is how we first met, I recall her driving us to a meeting and her taking note of the sudden appearance of crows near the vehicle. That was probably my first introduction to how seriously she took signs.
Early this afternoon her husband, also a friend, contacted me to let me know she had passed away.
I felt dumbstruck. Sideswiped. Bereft. Omen, coincidence or a goodbye message, it's up to you.
Micki was less than a decade older than me but she had battled serious illness all her life. She was given weeks (or less) to live at least a handful of times over the course of her life and each time beat odds that defied science. She was, quite simply, amazing. Bright and joyful, devout and someone who took no shit from anyone. I don't believe I ever swore in front of her, because that was just something you didn't do in her presence.
I loved her like the older sister I never had. She guided and taught me about so much, especially as I was only a few years into marriage. I was terribly afraid of disappointing her, of not living up to her exceptionally high moral standards - something of a private bit of contention I kept to myself. As amazing as she was, we did not agree on certain, shall we say human rights issues that tend to go hand in hand with being a woman raised in the deep South in a religious family. We had plenty in common though. Devotion to our family. Infertility struggles. A deep need to help others. My husband and I spent a fair share of evenings with Micki & her husband hanging out, playing games, watching sports, going out to eat.
Each of us moved and slowly communication became less regular. She was not a big technology person, so when she joined social media (long after her husband had and reconnected with my husband and I) it was nice to have that easy checking in process again.
I sat with her husband during one of her many surgeries ages ago at a specialty hospital she'd had to travel to. I learned from her that red wine is supposed to help settle the stomach, but as she didn't drink, her doctor told her grape juice can help too. When Leslie Jones screamed "The devil is a liar!" in Ghostbusters this summer, it was Micki's face I saw belting that out while playing cards with us when her husband won.
My first thought when I found out she died, outside of the shock and knee buckling, was how much safer I should feel now that she's looking after everyone now. My second thought was how dim the world felt without her in it. I cried.
Later, after I had compartmentalized the grief and was left numb to go run needed errands, I was struck by the idea of cheesecake covered in strawberries - our go-to treat to get us through a hellish week at work. So much so I printed a picture of a piece and pinned it over her desk. So one day very soon, I'm going to treat myself to a piece of cheesecake in her honor and appreciate how much better my world was for having known her.
