A month of Thanks ~ Heather

Today I'm thankful that I made the trip for Heather's service last night.

I really was waffling about whether I wanted to make the drive. Part of me was saying it was kind of dumb to drive all that distance for a funeral. But she would have done it for me. And I couldn't bear not to come.

I seem to have followed the remnants of hurricane Ida all the way from Columbia. It poured the entire drive- until I hit Martinsburg, WV. It stopped raining for the last 30 minutes of my drive. But in some ways, I'm thankful for the crappy weather. Even though it kept me from appreciating the fall beauty of my beloved mountains, the rain made me focus on driving. Sometimes on long drives I tend to let my mind wander. 8 hours alone gives you ALOT of time to think. But yesterday I was too busy making sure that I didn't get into an accident, I didn't have much time to think about Heather, and about how desperately sad I am.

Her service was beautiful. It was definitely unlike any memorial service I've ever attended.
As we walked in, they had a collage of pictures set up. And my favorite one of the two of us was on there. It caught me off guard, and then the tears started. The church was packed. I knew she had touched alot of lives, but it still astounded me how many people were there. At one point, more chairs had to be set up. It reminded me of Emily's funeral when the organist had to keep playing beyond the starting time because people were still filing in.

Her service was what I think I would want mine to be. There were alot of tears... but mostly laughter. It was truly more of a celebration than a "goodbye". It was a tribute to her faith, and to her indomitable spirit throughout the last seven months of her battle with cancer. I still cried through the whole thing. The pictures taken of her the week before she died were the hardest to see. She had lost so much weight, she was mostly unrecognizable. Except for her eyes. You could see even in the pictures that her eyes hadn't lost her laughter, her sweet spirit, and that fire and passion that made Heather... well, Heather.



She fought a hard battle. It broke my heart when her husband described how much pain she was in towards the end. I'm glad that she's pain free now. After hearing that, I wouldn't have wished her here one day longer to suffer so. But I am still so heartbroken that she's gone. After the service, I went to hug Gary, her husband. He said to me, "I'm so glad you came. She thought the world of you."

There went the tears again. I've struggled most with feeling like I didn't do enough. That I didn't go to see her when perhaps I should have. That I didn't say enough, that I didn't try hard enough. That perhaps if the situation was reversed, she would have done a better job of being a friend. I was afraid that she didn't know how much I love her, because I have a tendancy to not say it often enough to those I care about most.

That simple sentence broke my heart and healed it at the same time. I think she knew. I think she knew that I wasn't her. And she never needed me to be "her". She loved me as I am, shy and reserved and reticent to share sometimes. Heather was the kind of friend that accepted all of you. If nothing else, hearing those words "she thought the world of you", took away some of that guilt I've been feeling.

I'll think of her when I see or smell a flavored coffee. We always raced to see who could make the first pot of "the good stuff" at work. I'll think of her when I taste chocolate. Especially M&M's. I'll miss being called "chickadee", her pet name for everyone. I'll miss her laugh. I'll miss her hugs. I'll miss her wisdom. Heather was one of those people that wouldn't give you the answer you "wanted" to hear. She cut to the chase, and told you what she thought. And most of the time, she was right. Even if I didn't always want to hear it right away. She could read me like a book. "What's wrong?" she'd ask. If I'd say "nothing", she'd ask again. If I still insisted nothing was wrong, she'd sigh and say... "you always chew on your thumbnail when something's bothering you. Now what's wrong?" There aren't many people that can "bully" things out of me when I don't want to talk. Heather always could.

My beautiful friend.... I'm trying to be thankful for your life. It blew me away just how many lives you touched. And I hope you know that your prayer was answered. That through your fight with this horrid disease, you still shone as a light to so many of us. Every person there was a testament to that. You've touched us all, and your memory will be with us forever. When Emily died, I clung to the phrase that "Love Never Dies". I say that now for you too. Part of me is still so angry that you're gone. I'm selfishly sad for myself, because I miss you. Because it's not fair, because 44 is still so young, because you had to suffer so much. But it's all part of the process, right? I'll carry a piece of you with me always.

I'm heading back to Columbia tomorrow, with a heart that's both heavier and lighter at the same time. Heavy because of the finality of goodbye. Yet lighter because in some way I feel like I owe it to Heather's memory to do something with my life. To be the kind of friend Heather was. To love more freely, and to show that more often. To see beyond my own little circle, and to be a light to those I come in contact with every day. Heather taught me that. And more than anything, I want to honor that lesson.

And Heather--- I think the world of you too.