A Silent Tree

Today, I found out that a close friend of mine from high school was killed in the big San Diego County Cedar Fire of 2003. She's been gone for over seven years but I didn't know. In some tiny part of my memories, she has been existing, until today.

So now, I'm wrestling with having to unexpectedly redefine the existence of a high school friend whose wonderful and poignant memory I had tucked safely away in some part of my brain. Erasing my hope that one day soon we would re-connect and sit down together for a long catch-up session over tea, share photos of our children and grandchildren, compare our weirdly parallel lives, and laugh, and cry.

Instead, I'm only crying, by myself.

Tonight, my mother started whining and whimpering that she wanted to die and all I could think of was that she's 89 years old, with a full rich life behind her, and a grown family, and decades of wonderful memories, and yet she voluntarily wants to chuck it all and leave because, why?, because she feels old and depressed?

My friend was 50 years old when the fire took her life, with more talent in her big toe than I have in my entire being. Up until today, there was a sort of unconscious comfort for me in knowing that somewhere in the world my friend was existing and sharing her gifts with others. I was envious at the great pieces of art I was sure she was creating somewhere for somebody. Occasionally, I would wonder where she might be, what she might be doing with her gifts, was she happy, was she fulfilled, how might I contact her so we could connect? Now, as of today, I can't wonder any of those things anymore.

Instead I have to listen to my mother complain about not having her television on the right channel, not remembering where her jewelry is, not having enough fruit on her Grape-Nuts, not running out of pills.

My mom exists. She has existence. She's still alive. But she's not really emotionally or socially or intellectually present.

My friend stopped existing on October 26, 2003. For me, she stopped existing today. Yet, she still feels completely present.

Part of me wishes I hadn't found out.

That way, in my world anyway, she'd still exist.