Friday, June 8, 2007

The Gift of Friendship - Part II

In my last post I related the story of how Virginia, Linda, and I became friends -- and family -- and how she found out she had cancer just before we moved to Maui. She is now in hospice and may only have a few more days to live. Yesterday we both got on the phone and called her. She was a little tired and groggy, but we had a beautiful talk. Today we found out that she has slipped into unconsciousness. We had no idea it would be our last.

"Hi, dear, sweet Virginia. How are you?"
"I'm not doing too good, but I'm not in pain."
"Oh Virginia, we're so sorry."
"I don't think I'll make it to Hawaii after all."
"Well, Virginia," I say, ""Soon you'll be free to come whenever you wish."
"I'll come as a butterfly."
"We'll be looking out for you," Linda says. "You know that my mom came to my father the day after she died. It was as clear as can be."
"When Fran died, I had monarch butterflies flying all around me for weeks. The monarch was Fran's totem animal -- we had even made a film on them. It was such a clear sign that she was communicating from the Other Side."
"Well, I declare," Virginia says in her lovely Southern drawl.
"Yes, Emmanuelle once said, 'Death is like taking off a heavy overcoat.' I like to think of it as moving towards the greatest freedom we can imagine. Who you are does not die. We may think we are our bodies, but in truth, who we are is nothing but pure awareness. Most of us have to die to find out, unfortunately." I laugh.
"It's comforting to know that," Virginia laughs.
"I've actually had those experiences," Linda says. "All there is is love -- a love so vast you can't imagine."
"But I do get frightened of the unknown," Virginia says.
I say, "I do too. It's in our DNA to fear death and the unknown, but we can always change how we look at it. I remember the story of Timothy Leary calling Ram Dass when he found out his cancer was terminal. He said, 'I'm dying of cancer -- what great news -- what an adventure!'"
"You can't imagine the joy that awaits you," Linda says. "You'll be with your mom and all those who you've loved."
"And we'll be with you too -- in the blink of an eye."
"Your friendship has meant so much to me."
"It has to us too."
"We love you so much, Virginia."
"We've had some beautiful times together, haven't we?"
"Yes, we have. Remember we're always with you, even if we are 5000 miles aways."
"I'll always love you both -- from both here and in heaven."
"Goodbye, Virginia."
"Bye."

1 Comments:

  • At June 10, 2007 5:18 PM , Blogger peter said...

    Over the years that you've known Virginia, I've often thought your friendship to a coincidence of geography. The world travelers always seemed like an unlikely pair with the neighbor who never flew on an airplane.

    Looking at these pictures and reading your posts, it all comes together. You communed as gentle souls. I always appreciated Virginia's warmth and hospitality, but through your eyes I now see that those homemade pies and afternoon visits flowed from deep currents of abiding love. Virginia had a lot of goodness in her.

    I've been thinking a lot lately about what my life will mean in a couple of hundred (or thousand) years. Virginia reminds me that one of the biggest measures will be the lives that I touch. My children will know about this kind and gracious woman who shared the same home where Den and Linda lived, who nourished all of us with homemade pies and cookies, who took delight in caring for Luke, Sky, and Babe, and who loved all of us just because it was her way.

     

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