Because I do what I do here, I have the awesome opportunity to meet so many amazing people, from all over the world. Sometimes our friendships bleed over into “real life,” but mostly I maintain beautiful friendships with people I’ve never met in person. One of the perks of writing to an audience is that sometimes my words and my stories spread around cyberspace and reach people when they really need it. I never know when something I write is going to help someone when they’re hurting, or make someone laugh when they’re sad, or help them realize that it’s ME who’s the idiot–not them. It happens. I’m not saying that makes me an awesome humanitarian or anything, but it totally makes me an awesome humanitarian. And mostly I do it for free. What you may not know is that I need you more than you need me. There. I said it. I’m needy.
Sometimes I’ll get traffic from one site and so I click on it to see what’s being said. Only a few times has it been something like OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO READ THIS AWFUL WEBSITE WRITTEN BY A WOMAN WHO IS CLEARLY DERANGED–I MEAN SHE’S FUNNY–IN AN EVIL SUCK YOUR BLOOD SORT OF WAY–BUT DON’T LAUGH BECAUSE SHE’S THE DEVIL–AND SHE WILL HYPNOTIZE YOU USING JEDI VOODOO–I KNOW BECAUSE I READ IT FOR 7 DAYS STRAIGHT–SO I KNOW JUST HOW HORRIBLE A PERSON SHE IS.
Most of the time though it’s something positive about my site. Which is what I like. OK, I like the other stuff too, and do you know why? Because even most of the haters keep reading. Cuz I tell it like it is–and they totally know I’m right, they just don’t want admit that they use a vibrator.
So, a few weeks ago I saw that I was getting traffic from a site called Mommaville. But I couldn’t read what was posted because it’s private. So I joined (this is where my need for constant approval kicks in). And I was given access to the forum where someone had posted a link to my site. And these women, who it turns out, are an awesome group, were mourning the loss of one of their friends and were looking to my site for some comic relief. Her name is Vaike, and she had died the Friday before, at the age of 42. She’d not been feeling well some months back and went to the doctor with what she thought was the stomach flu. It wasn’t. It was Stage 4 colon cancer.
Vaike was brave, she fought hard. She thought we would beat it. Everyone who knew her believed that if anyone could beat it, she could. Sadly, that was not to be.
She died all too soon, leaving behind her husband and her two young children, ages 2 and 4.
These women bonded with each other, sharing stories about their lives, giving and asking advice about marriage and parenting. But mostly, they’re just there for each other, no matter what. In reading their stories about Vaike, the common theme was that Vaike was a strong voice for them. She offered support, gave sound advice, shared her life and her love. They’re as close a group as any group of friends you would have in “real life.” The power of the Internet never ceases to amaze me.
After hearing the stories, I wished I had known Vaike. She apparently was an amazing woman who continued to give fully of herself, all the way to the end.
Their story about Vaike made me think about my own experience with the loss of a friend. Her name was Ashley and we met at church when I was about 10. We didn’t go to the same school, so we spent most of our time together on Sunday afternoons. We took turns going to each other’s houses after church.
Ashley and I had what you would call a love/hate relationship. Sometimes I hated the very ground she walked on. I would tell her as much and promise to never speak to her again. I’d call my mom to come pick me up and as soon as we’d drive away, I’d start crying because I missed her already. She was a brat. And she knew it. She knew just what buttons to push to make me want to drown her. In fact, we did try to drown each other once.
It was 1980-something and I went to Florida with Ashley and her family. We went to Cocoa Beach to watch the Space Shuttle take off. It was supposed be an opportunity of a lifetime. I don’t remember exactly what happened but we got in a fight, naturally–right there on the beach–in the water. And she dunked me under. So I fought my way out of her grip and dunked her under. And then the Space Shuttle took off. And we missed the whole thing. Because we were trying to drown each other.
Now, thinking back, it makes me laugh. We were so stupid. But we loved each other more than two people should.
Our relationship remained this volatile up and down kind of way until we graduated from high school. When we realized we were going to be away from each other for long stretches of time (she was going to Mizzou and I was going to Baylor) something changed in us. We no longer fought. We clung to every last second we got to spend together until it was time to leave.
Ashley was an only child and her parents were divorced. She hadn’t spent much time away from her mother before. In fact, I don’t think she was ever away from her mother–except when she was with me. During the first semester of our sophomore year, she called her mom and told her she didn’t feel well. Her mom, thinking it was homesickness, assured Ashley that she was fine and that they’d see each other soon. Ashley kept saying she wanted to come home–she felt something was wrong.
Finally, after several months of this, Ashley’s mom told her to come home–that she’d take her to the doctor.
The news was bad.
It was worse than bad.
Ashley had Stage IV Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.
And 8 months later she was gone.
I’ll never forget the day my mom called me. I was away at school, and home in between classes for lunch. When I picked up the phone and heard my mother’s words, I felt like my world was ending.
I’d just seen her the weekend before. She was in the hospital. She looked good. Well, as good as you can look at 80 pounds with your bones sticking out of your skin. Her wig kept sliding to the side and I laughed at her, telling her she looked ridiculous–why didn’t she just take it off.
The one thing that never changed about her was her smile. She had the kind of smile where you use your whole face–you know what I’m talking about? The kind of smile where you absolutely can’t help but smile back.
She was strong–that girl. She always wanted to know what was going on with me. Who was I dating? Why did I not know what I wanted to do with my life? Why did I wear that ridiculous sweater? We never talked about her illness. She was too busy being strong for me, picking on me as usual.
The last day I saw Ashley alive, her boyfriend was there and they talked about getting married. She loved him and he loved her–bald head and skin and bones and all. He sat there and in front of me, told her she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever known. She blushed. And I know she felt his words were true. I remember feeling jealous of their relationship. No one loved me that much. And I had all my hair.
I miss her. I miss that I hated her. I miss that I loved her. I miss that she always told me when I was being a shit.
She died 5 days before her 21st birthday. And I barely remember the funeral. It was open casket, but I didn’t go see her. No way I wanted to remember her like that. I wanted to remember her smile–the smile that lit up her whole face. I wanted to remember the girl who tried to drown me.
I lay in the pew with my head in my mother’s lap, utterly heartbroken and inconsolable.
I see Ashley’s mom from time to time around town and at the grocery store. I see how she looks at my children and I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking she would have grandchildren by now–and they’d all have Ashley’s smile. I know she blames herself for Ashley’s death. She’s said that if only she’d listened to her when she said she wasn’t feeling well–that maybe the cancer could have been caught in time.
Maybe.
Life is short. Love long. Love hard. Love much.
{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
This is beautiful. Your description of Ashley is awesome, it made me smile and tear up. ~Susan
This is a beautiful tribute to your friend.
A rare and powerful friendship so very lovely
That's a great friendship right there… I'm so happy that you remember so much about it all – and I'm sorry for your loss. It's good that you cherished her when you could…
ohh Shauna. That was powerful. First of all, you are a great writer and you have my total admiration and approval -since you need that
And I'm so glad to know your truth since I thought all the girls that sat at the cheerleader lunch table had it all figured out. My husbands friend Bill, from college has had surgery and chemo to cure his colon cancer and now a biopsy has been done on his liver yesterday to see if it has spread. I have spoken to his wife who is a great friend and I 'm trying to stay upbeat.. but the future is uncertain… Both of his parents have passed from cancer in the last year. Its unbelievable. It makes a house burning down not seem like such a big deal when we are all healthy. Thanks for this 
I have goose bumps. That was very powerful.
what a wonderful testament to your friendship with ashley.
Gosh, Shauna. A little warning next time- I just put on mascara.
Beautiful story, thanks for sharing. Wonderful message by the way.
Oh friend.
What a treasure that you had that friendship. Not everyone knows and experiences friendship like that.
I'm so sorry that she died, that's so tragic.
Hugs.
Beautiful, made me cry… Sorry for the loss of such a great friend.
What a beautiful post. I'm so sorry for your loss. Thank you for the reminder of how precious life is.
thanks for making me cry on my shitty homemade turkey sausage biscuit.
Shauna, thanks for sharing such a wonderful and heart-wrenching story about your friendship and the one you witnessed on the other website. Your writing is phenominal and you made me cry in my coffee. Ruined my concealer, too. But it's all good!
Thank you.
Such a beautiful story. Especially for those of us that have lost a dear friend….
As a wise little rascal once said, "You meet your once-in-a-lifetime friend, once in a lifetime." Beautiful tribute to a friend who no doubt shaped your life as much as you shaped hers.
Ouch. How deeply we miss those who decide it's time to leave us…
I agree that the internet is amazing – the bonds that can be formed are unbelievable. I'm meeting some of my 'board' friends on Thursday. In Cocoa Beach actually!
That was a gorgeous story of Ashley – and it's sad that she was taken too soon.
I assisted a mortician friend several years back with a very difficult case. I went with him on what we term, a house call, where someone has died at home from such horrible things as cancer.
The lady was late 30s, and mother of three children, ages 5 to 10. She had complained about a pain in her upper abdoment. Because she was a marathon runner and a stickler for health, neither she or her husband paid much mind to it. They though it was something minor, like a pulled muscle.
Because the pain became constant, she finally went to see her doctor and got dreadful news — pancreatic cancer. She was gone in two months.
When we were leaving with Mom that early Saturday morning, the youngest child followed us to the funeral home vehicle and asked, "When are you bringing mom back?"
In my 15 years of funeral service, few images have stayed with me as that moment. I was a fairly new father then, and I could not fathom trying to explain to my girls why mom was not coming back.
Often I see that husband at specific sporting events around town. He doesn't remember because I had a very minor role in serving that family during funeral services.
He looks terribly aged and everytime I see his face, I relive the moment his child asked me, "When are you bringing mom back."
What life has been for that family is beyond me.
How do you explain to your children that your marathon-running mother, who forced you to eat veggies, as she devoured hers, along with tons of water and proper vitamins, was taken by a disease so mortal and without much warning?
I can't answer that.
Carpe diem, folks.
I had a freind like that- he died 2 years and one day before my son was born:
http://sparrowandtide.wordpress.com/2008/11/19/stones-name/
Thanks for this.
That was beautiful Shaunna, thank you.
Tonight I will raise a glass to your loving, bratty, Sunday afternoon, stop drowning me, dearly missed friend. I am sure she is smiling down upon you…
Thank you for writing this today. My daughter's boyfriend (age 17) died last week and I, as a mother, have been struggling with what to do to help her through. Just reading about your experience, knowing that I'm not alone as a parent, hearing how your mom held you just as I held my daughter a few days ago at his funeral has helped me so much. I'm so sorry for the loss you have experienced but I'm grateful that you chose to share it with us. It helps many of us out here in cyber space. I know it has helped me today. And I want to thank you.
Thank you for honoring our friend and yours, and for reminding us to value those we love.
Karin from MV
i remember her…pretty girl. i didn't realize y'all were so close….i was too busy wanting to BE you. love ya!
i've gotten away from reading you because you tweet and post too damned much (lol), but the word "die" drew me in just now as i was catching up on the day's tweets. my baby nephew died today. his mother, my sister, had lost another child already, much in the same way you lost yours, in utero after there was already a heartbeat. i don't know why i'm posting here; maybe i just wanted to tell someone without actually telling someone. what a day.
Thank you for sharing our story and yours Shauna.
Cheri
Mommaville
Crying. Beautiful. Love you!
Not what I was expecting to read from you, but a beautiful tribute nonetheless.
what a heartbreaking story. i’m sorry you lost your friend. reading this gave me chills, i’m 2 years in remission from non-hodgkin’s lymphoma. i hate cancer. so much.
This story made me laugh and cry. It makes me think back about my friends I’ve lost and it makes me think about my girls. I know it’s an old one but it was linked to today’s post. xo
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