Goodbye, Heather

I think I must've met Heather during 3rd grade at Sunset View when my family moved to town. Does that sound right? Was she in Mrs. Earlywine's class? Anyway, I knew her all the way up through high school, but after graduation we lost touch.

I didn't get to see Heather at the reunion a few months ago... there were so many people I wanted to catch up with, and so little time. But afterwards, she wrote me a note. She had read in my reunion profile about the stillbirth of my son in 2007, and she was so kind. She called him by his name and told me she was glad I'd included his picture and his story. It really meant a lot, even a year-plus after the loss. I wrote her back to thank her, we linked up on Facebook... I had hopes we were becoming "grown up friends", as has happened with several of my other long-lost peeps in the past few years. My daughter's favorite park is Westminster Park, one I always associate with Heather; I'm not sure why. I remember she once told me she preferred Westminster over the Red Brick Church because she didn't like the praying aloud in unison. We go to the Red Brick Church now, so I've often thought of her with a smile during that part of the service.

Anyway, I had this vision of catching up with her for a playdate at Westminster Park sometime when she'd be in town, and getting our families introduced, and watching my daughter Emma play with Grace and Cooper.

When I read last month on Facebook about her divorce, my heart was broken for her and her kids, and I wrote her a note of sympathy and support. She never wrote back. I didn't that would be it. When I got this terrible news, I went for a search, but to no avail... now I can't even find the note she sent me after the reunion. I didn't know I was supposed to be treasuring up these little, meaningless interactions. I didn't know there was so little time left.

So, for me, there is a hole now in the places inside me where those fond little hopes used to live. For many of you here, I know, it's not a little hole, but a yawning, inky black void where just a week ago there was a wonderful, caring, vivacious human being. To all of you so deeply touched, I am profoundly sorry for your loss.