In January I wrote
this post about my friend and former roommate, Angela. She was battling stage four cancer and had a prayer request for God to grant her more years even though doctors gave her a much shorter life expectancy. Then at the end of September, I wrote
this post about the day Angela came to visit - and say goodbye. I just
knew that day...it was goodbye.
I hated knowing that.
And December 1, I read the Facebook post I'd been dreading.
She was gone.
The part of me that loved her was relieved. She hated being dependent. I knew hospice wasn't her thing. She had told me she'd fight as long as she had quality of life and knew what I read wasn't what she'd consider any kind of quality and she was finally free of pain.
The part of me that loved her felt a pointed, searing loss that no amount of preparation could calm.
Angela and I were opposites in nearly everything, and writing was no different. I proofread her grad school papers and we got some good laughs out of those things. My favorite one was so bad I can't even put it on the blog - but we sure did giggle for YEARS about that one.
When she knew she was sick...but she didn't know how sick...she told me she wanted to write about her life and she wanted me to help her. We never got it done and now I stare at this screen and wonder how in the world I can condense a life lived so boldly...into a blog post.
It cannot be done.
Angela's laugh was infectious. Whenever we had an argument and we'd worked through things, she'd start that never ending giggle and I found it impossible to stay mad - though I wanted nothing more. Even that last day I saw her, when we sat on the couch saying our goodbyes, she started giggling and through my tears, I had to join...
Though I despised the thing, she gained joy unspeakable and I would even dare to say...worship...out of the miles she rode on her motorcycle. I'll never like them, but every time I see one, I'll think of her and miss her so.
Angela taught me to love traveling. We never went on a trip together, but she taught me sometimes it's more important to cultivate a relationship and make a memory than to pad a bank account.
Never have I met a better listener than Angela. She certainly put in hours (weeks?) of listening to me...processing...counseling...advising...I told her I was just a free case study for her career.
She humored me by taking pictures, listening to David Phelps and even taking me to a Clay Aiken concert. (Some things only a roommate could love.) She shared her friends and embraced mine.
She taught me grace like I'd never seen before.
But what I learned most from her was the way she attacked life as she lived with dying. She wasn't afraid. She made sure those around her knew she loved them and she would be okay. She fought to make every memory she could until she no longer had breath...literally.
She was a warrior extraordinaire.
Angela, thank you for being part of my life. We were unlikely friends....but you were one of the greatest gifts and blessings God ever gave me.
I miss you. I cried when I got out the Christmas decorations and remembered the day you locked yourself in the attic in the middle of the winter...and I just happened to discover you when I unexpectedly came home for lunch. There you were, all layered up with all the clothes you found in a storage tub, huddled by the light bulb, pounding on the door hoping someone would hear you.
No more huddling in layers for you. I'm quite certain there are no Harleys in Heaven, but I have a feeling if one sneaked in, you found it and you're riding it. You have your gorgeous long hair again and you're singing at the top of your lungs.
Worshiper extraordinaire.
