I lost one of my best friends today.
Her name was Kim. And while I didn't share with her golf, or baseball or any of the other hundreds of things guys can bond over, I was as close to her as I was any guy throughout my lifetime.
I loved her. Not the way I love my wife, and not the way I love my sister. Ours was different. I've tried to figure some way to describe it, but that's the best way I can describe it.
Different.
We didn't fight the way brothers and sisters do. It was an altogether different kind of respect. And things almost turned romantic once. But somehow we both knew that wouldn't be right either. And so we just continued on, being there for each other regardless of whatever situation we found ourselves in at the moment.
Some of the fondest memories I have of my childhood involve her. Her parents and my parents were best friends. So we spent a lot of time over there. She was too young to be close to my older brother and sister, so we spent our time together. At her house, at my house, camping, wherever. I looked forward to being with Kim.
As teenagers, we leaned on each other. She made the turbulent times of adolescence survivable, because I was always able to go to her and talk to her when I needed a shoulder or an ear. And I did. And she did the same, confiding in me about life and sharing her hopes, dreams, hurts and fears. It didn't matter that she was a girl and I was a boy. There wasn't anything she and I couldn't and didn't talk about.
She asked me to her prom once, knowing, of course, that it would be a night out on the town for a couple of friends. I declined, because of some other commitment. I regretted it, and, you know, now it’s kind of funny, because, now, I remember the invite, but I don’t remember what I did instead of going to her prom with her.
I remember going to her high school graduation party. I was heavily sedated after having all four of my wisdom teeth cut out of my face a couple of days earlier. Even though I was sick all the day previous, I didn’t want to miss this special time for her. Feeling better, and wanting to see Kim, I got up, dressed up, and went to the party. Upon my arrival, my nausea returned and I spent practically the whole party sleeping in her bed. She wasn’t upset at all. Just happy that I was there.
When I began dating my wife, I made sure she met Kim and that I had her stamp of approval. I'm not sure what I would have done if Kim had been disappointed by my choice, but I would have been torn, you can bet on that. She introduced me to her husband to be. I’m not sure she was presenting him to me for my approval, but I’ve always believed she would have been torn as well. How could I not approve? Greg saw in her what I’d seen for years. And he was no dummy.
As the years went by, we spent less and less time together. Occasionally, we would meet for lunch. Once, my wife’s aunt, who just happened to work in the same building as Kim, saw me pick her up for lunch, drop her off, and give her a kiss goodbye. She told my wife. When the Mrs. found out who it was, she had to inform the aunt that there was no problem. She smiled and said, “It’s just Kim.”
We met more frequently at first, and then diminishing with time. We had our own families, you know? Kids to raise, places to be, work to be done. When you live over 50 miles apart, you might as well live on separate coasts. Over the past several years, it’s just been the occasional family get-togethers (although her family and mine are not really related. Who knew?)
A couple of months ago, I saw her at a family wedding. We caught up a bit, and I told her I missed having lunch with her. I would call soon, I promised, to have lunch again.
It was the last time I saw her.
She loved Jesus, which comforts me. And she is, as they say, in a much better place now. But then, that’s where Kim always was – a much better place than the rest of us. You see, her Mama and Papa raised her right. She was always a little happier, a little bubblier, and, despite her chronic arthritic pain, always felt a little better than the rest of us. I lost touch over the years, but there’s no doubt in my mind she was the same girl I was proud to call my friend for nearly 40 years. If you look closely, you will see it now, I’m sure, in the love of her husband and the eyes of her two beautiful children.
I have lots of memories of Kim. But they’re mine, and I really don’t want to share them with anybody else. I’m going to be selfish, and right now, my heart hurts pretty bad. But I look forward to the day we can have lunch again. I will pick her up, kiss her goodbye, and be sure not to let so much time go before we meet again.
I look forward to it a lot.
