Death of a Friend

I got the call yesterday at noon.  Although reason says at some point in life this kind of call will come, still, you are never really ready.

Aneurysm…airlifted…nonresponsive…and finally, late last night…brain dead.

I got my first (and only) real job when I was about 22.  I started by working in a temporary secretarial position in the Payroll department at Tyson Foods, but soon applied for and was awarded a full-time position in the Casualty Claims department where Karen also worked.  She was not quite realistically old enough to be my mother, but because she had gray hair and had been working at Tyson forever, she was definitely a force to be reckoned with.  However, it soon became apparent that everyone loved her, and for good reason.  She was so much fun to be around.  It didn’t take long before I was hanging around her desk every day and counted her as a good friend.  Although I quit working for Tyson 12 years ago, Karen and I kept in touch.  I was on her bowling league team for many years.  I would visit her at the office on occasion, or go out to lunch.

Karen had a brain aneurysm Friday morning at work.  If memory serves me correctly, she started at Tyson when she was 16 years old.  Since last August I went to her 35-years-at-Tyson Foods-anniversary party, that would make her about 52 years old yesterday.  That party was the last time I saw her.  Still the same.  Wiry, gray hair.  Quick smile.  Surrounded by friends.  Way too young and full of life to be gone.

I have no idea how death of any kind works, much less an aneurysm.  Did she feel bad?  Did she have a headache?  Or did she simply feel like herself until the moment where she felt no more?  All I really know is how it didn’t happen.  Surely she didn’t get up yesterday morning and say “Finally, it’s Friday.  I’m going to go to work now.  Bye, honey, don’t wait up for me.  I won’t see you tonight for supper.”

Because it never works like that.

I will miss my friend.  Many, many other people will miss her even more than I will.  But I am simply reminded today of how fleeting life is.  We wake up and have a schedule.  We have our to-do lists.  We have our calendars.  But for all of our plans, we are not guaranteed any more than this moment.  Life is gone in a breath.

Thank you, Karen, for being you.  Thank you for being my friend.  Thank you for reminding me that time is precious.  I’ll give my kiddos a hug for you until we see each other again.

                                                   

December 2011