One time at band camp...

I reflected and finally dealt with the losses I've had to endure of late: Loss of a cell phone, loss of my youth and loss of a childhood/lifelong friend. Of course most people feel the sting of loss and grief in their life during the holidays and I was no exception.

My cell phone committed suicide, tired of the abuse it took during its short life, took a final plunge into Bidwell creek from its lofty perch atop my bike shorts. Guess it finally reached the end of its rope (or in this case, signal), when I downloaded naughty pics from my girls weekend in Reno. Hey, Patron really does make your clothes fall off. Perhaps my cell, my precious was sick of the teenage slobber and verbiage when my kids borrowed it? Possibly, it became bored with all the telemarketers from colleges wooing my straight-A high school sophomore? Maybe it was just sick of my eclectic play list?Whatever the reason, my precious was no more and like Homer Simpson, I wailed, "Dough!" as it swan dove over the bridge into the icy depths of Bidwell Creek last Monday. One minute, connected to my world, the next, seemingly lost. Having to rely on my home phone dealt me a blow. My teens have no secretarial skills:

"Mom, someone called." Let the interrogation begin:

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"I dunno."

"Well, was it one of my girlfriends, like Meg? Or Tonya? How about ,Auntie Fran, Bri, Kathie or Kelly?"

"I dunno, guess it was a girl."

"Was she from my work maybe? Was it Dor, my boss?"

"I dunno."

"Was she Auntie Lynn or Grandma?"

"I dunno, guess they'll call back."

"Oh, did you get the number?"

"What number?"

"Never mind."

Seriously. This conversation nearly had me in an early grave and gave me more grey hair to hide amongst the lagging blond streaks. My friend and hairdresser extraordinaire Stephanie weaves the multitude of white(grey) into the blond and adds Carmel, thus giving me the illusion (and I use this term loosely) of being a young woman, of mysterious age, or so I told myself. Apparently the mystery was solved and my white hair gave away my maturity as my friends sauntered into a dance club, giggling when the bouncers checked their ID with humorous scrutiny. I however got the go ahead wave. How insulting! Not even a bat of an eye, just the old, "Go ahead," and wave. Defeated I skulked into the dance floor. However this latest deflation kind of goes with the series of losses and downtrodden mindsets.

David's death leaves me spiritually numb. He is the third friend I have lost in two years.

Like so many of my golden friends, Dave and I grew up in the United Methodist church in Santa Rosa, having been inducted into the close-knit church families. We'd camp together along with thirty or so other families. We went on ski trips, hiked and picnicked at Annadale Park,backpacked through the Sierras, roller skated at Cal Skate, slurped ice-cream Earthquakes at Swensens, snuck into movies, attended the same schools and Junior college, griped about the injustice of teachers and their politics and always intermingled. The best way to describe our relationship: Rolling, repetitive waves of childhood fun, youth group activities and general good times.

Dave was my brother, both spiritually and personally as we found a kindred spirit in our silliness and love of nature at an early age. One of our favorite pastimes was to compete in pranks and jokes. Unfortunately, many people didn't get our humor and we'd be the only two hyenas in the group. If only to find camaraderie rolling on the floor, tears streaming, laughing. Yet we also shared a love of essays and poems by a modge podge of writers.
We'd find each other often on weekends, me, leading my horse Samantha, Dave wandering, at the field near what is today, a junior high school in Rincon Valley and we'd just walk, shortly greeting each other as if we had caught each other in some awful crime, of wandering and then just hike through the field. In a way, recognizing and embracing each others struggle of wanting the solitude life like Thoreau, yet knowing we were social beings. Caught in between to insure our torturous teen existence (I suspect that is why we both worked very hard at entertaining each other and others, sort of fooling ourselves to ensure that we were "normal").

During early college days, we'd bump into each other on Santa Rosa Junior College campus, reminisce about days gone by, jokes gone good, bad or ugly and then our lives, like our childhood friendship, dissipated into the mists of growing up and apart. I'd catch up with Dave now and again via Christmas cards,phone calls, visits back home and news from worried parents.

Parents, no matter how much you try to teach them, will always and forever worry. Especially it seemed, our set of folks. Our youth group was so close, a vestibule of love and sharing which poured and seeped into individual lives, in a time when one is supposed to be discovering independence; our youth group grew closer, tighter and involved parents and clergy alike. It wasn't a cult,yet had those facets; a commune of love and a large sense of extended families. I knew in my heart that if I had an issue with my parents (which, I had a lot, just like any teen), I could go to any of my friends parents and share without judgment. What I percieved as little tragedies of teen drama would seep out and disturb the peaceful pond of our little haven. But in all, those relationships have molded who I am today, taught me about the love of Christ, the fellowship of belonging and the rules of engagement with the opposite sex. Those feelings of warmth and love will never be replaced, no matter how hard I try. I can only pray that my kids will embrace the hope of similar friendships in their church upbringing.

After my first move away from my hometown, I went through mourning and actual with drawls from those relationships. Trying in vain to recapture those warm and fuzzy feelings, but no one could ever replace those friends, the golden friends of my childhood and youth. One very callous person even suggested that I stop trying, stating, "You will never, ever find friends that you are close to as you had as a kid. Just deal with it, grow up and settle that you may find one or even two very poor substitutes that you can go to a movie with now and again, but you'll never have a group of good friends like that again." Ouch! Looking back, I can clearly see that this person had and still has issues in their own relationships.

Like anyone in my early twenties, I'd make the annual pilgrimage to my homestead for holidays, as a young bride, squeezing in my husbands family to accommodate the guilty visits of relatives. Filtering in time in for home-bound college and youth-group friends became more and more difficult as our ever extending family demands enveloped the short visit like thunderheads, bullies; rolling over a grassy meadow, pushing the sun away. We all tried and for some, the attempts paid off and they are, as proof on their face book and my space pages, close as ever.

As fate would have it, Dave swept into my life again, dating my step-sister for a short while and giving all of us the best extension of self: His daughter Lexi. Lexi is just a few months apart from my son. As parenthood overtook our lives, our friendship rekindled and we embarked upon revisits of old stomping grounds; introducing our kids to Swensens earthquakes, Roller skates and ice skates, picnics at Annadale, birthday parties and shared family gatherings. For an all too brief time, our silliness re-ignited and though it wasn't exactly the same as when we were kids and youth it came a close second. His troubled relationship with my step-sister strained the extended relationships and made it difficult to cut through the bull. Our kids grew up and apart, family gatherings were less frequented and again, the relationship dissipated into annual Christmas greetings and phone calls.

Running through Annadale the morning of Dave's memorial left liminol and sharp images folded through-out my memories, as most memories are. We remember as if on rewind, fastforward or pause and that is the way I will always remember life with Dave: Lexi and Josh with bright orange water wings toddling into the shallows of Spring lake. Dave and I in our teens, jumping off the lift during a youth ski trip, just because there was a ginormous pile of snow below us and well, we just had to do it, nearly killing ourselves but rendering us helpless, both from the wind being knocked out and our laughter consuming us. Introducing our kids to kite flying at Salmon creek. Cutting fourth period high school business class (which happened to be taught by one of my future in-laws) and stealing away to Perry's deli. During another cut day, on a dare, jetting off to indulge in SF's Ghiradelli hot fudge sundaes. Walking barefoot on Queen Willemina's lawn in SF directly after Dave's chronic illness diagnosis. We munched on carrot sticks and enjoyed a rare warm day. His teasing, calling my kids, "Anne-and-Tomically correct" putting my name and my husbands together-ha ha! The last conversation I had with Dave: Debating whether or not to put in my garden this year. I vehemently didn't want to battle the critters and possible fire issues, but Dave urged, having of late becoming quite the avid Gardner. My tomato plants are budding. I hopefully gaze, now in anticipation, as small bees do their thing and I will be able to make Christmas salsa, yet another one of Dave's recipes.

In some ways, I concede to affirm that once callous friend's prediciton: No, I will never have the friendships nor friends for that matter I had in my childhood or youth. Being the social creature I am, my friends today are soul sisters and brothers, I have found during some of the most challenging aspects of my life (rather I think, they have found me as God sent them). I probably wouldn't have had the wisdom nor discernment in my childhood or youth to befriend such treasures of souls. Yet as the recent trip to Daves memorial brought those golden friends together again, I truly miss those times of yesteryear.

I mourn Dave as I mourn my other friends who have passed; complete heartache, but his death leaves a deeper wound. I can only sum it up to the feeling I get when I watch the end of Black Beauty: In dreamlike state, the horse settles in his old age, lying under the shade tree gazing over the pasture he and his friends used to run free in and he remembers as if it were yesterday; carefree, mane and tail flying, playing and romping. Knowing that their friendship is forever.

I can almost empathize the deep ache and sadness the disciples had for Jesus's death, yet they hadn't the knowledge I have, that I will see my brother again.
There is nothing more to say other than my poor attempt of rambling in the ache of missing my friend and friends.
I leave you with one of my favorite quotes from

Henry David Thoreau

As surely as the sunset in my latest November
shall translate me to the ethereal world,
and remind me of the ruddy morning of youth;
as surely as the last strain of music which falls on my decaying ear
shall make age to be forgotten,
or, in short, the manifold influences of nature
survive during the term of our natural life,
so surely my Friend shall forever be my Friend,
and reflect a ray of God to me,
and time shall foster and adorn and consecrate our Friendship,
no less than the ruins of temples.