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January 26, 2005

"This is real."

"and, in the end,
the love you take
is equal to the love you make"

once upon a time, far back in waning of the glory days of a healthier economy, i worked at a place that seemed like camelot. with a stated mission of recovering child support, it had the noblest of goals, the purest of objectives.

i found not only friends there, but respect, appreciation for who i was and what i could do, that made it seem like everything i felt i had ever wanted in high school.

by and large, it was the people that made this place so significant for me. for, as we know, every fairytale land is only as meaningful as the characters that inhabit it, and here, there were many that gave it life and even love. but for me, there was one that rose above, who shone more consistently and persistently across the land. she was a princess that needed no throne to ascend to, that needed only the truest of smiles as a crown. she was, simply, Julie.

Julie was a good worker, mature as necessary, but beyond that, someone constantly full of almost childlike, innocent, and genuine enthusiasm and love. to be her friend was to know and feel the sun on your face every day, almost without fail. Julie's life wasn't perfect, as no princess' really is. she was as wonderfully human as she could be - not immune to tears, though slow and rare to anger. but with rare exception, her smile was there every day.

at the time, i was probably even more susceptible to my emotions than i am now. but anger, sorrow, depression, were often beaten back, if not defeated, by Julie's uncompromising and unrelenting love.

camelot fell, as so many utopian kingdoms do in fairy tales, to the hubris and greed of those who ruled it. in this time, i succeeded in getting myself banished from my own quickly deteriorating fairytale existence. on my last day at work, after my supervisor told me, weeping, that i was being laid off, i took a detour on the way back to my desk, avoiding the waiting HR director with her box. i ducked and dove through the maze of cubicles, saying my goodbyes, my friends directing me away from the path of my increasingly agitated pursuer, until i at last went to see my friends in the legal division where i had once worked. i remember the hugs that day, not the least of all from Julie.

i withdrew from Julie and so many other friends in the months that followed, as i searched for a job, left a relationship, and entered a fairly dark phase. but i always knew in some way that i would see her again, that the friendship would resume as it had left off, and i would be better for it.

all of this sounds like exaggeration, indeed the stuff of fairy tales. but it's true. i knew it then, and have known since, that Julie was someone extraordinary and special.

but i didn't think enough of it, didn't realize what it meant, how real it was, what "real" even was, until today.

yesterday, without warning, Julie passed out at a doctor's office. after everything she had struggled through, after all the strength she imparted with her friendship and her love, some tiny blood vessel in her brain gave way, and she fell to sleep.

she remained in a coma, and today, with a doctor's pronouncement and a decision by her mother and sisters, she was gone.

i have been selfish enough to feel lucky that i've been so remarkably untouched by death. it was hard when my grandparents died, many years ago, but it was different. i've never lost a friend without warning or expectation. i've felt guilty about that, and selfishly dreaded the day my luck ran out and someone close to me died.

when i got word of what had happened this morning, there was shock. i honestly had no idea how to process it, as if new pathways in my brain had to be created for the first time. but it didn't take long to miss her, to feel how complete and umitigated loss and grief can be.

as much as i ask "why" in my life, tonight i sort of don't. it's not that i blindly accept it - i would give anything to have her back, for her daughter, for her family, for her friends, for me. i don't know when the tears will stop coming. i also don't believe that she died for some cosmic reason, or to teach anyone anything, but the fact is, she did teach today. as much as i should have learned from her before about love and friendship, she taught me much more about life and love today.

this morning, the intensive care waiting room filled quickly with her friends, just as fast as the word could spread and people could get there, until as many as 17 friends were gathered to wait, when many would believe there was nothing left to wait for, to bear witness, and for the chance of seeing her long enough to say goodbye.

we all got to see her. i had my moment alone with her. her chest rose and fell. her pulse and blood pressure monitors seemed perfect. her hand was still warm when i held it. i talked to her, and never doubted that she heard.

Alexis, her daughter, arrived. her family and the priest and the chaplain and social worker explained things to her, and she went to see her mother. the little girl is only nine years old, but today, she was so clearly her mother's child, so clearly of some extraordinary lineage.

leaving her mother's room, she stopped before the nurses and thanked them for everything they had done.

in the waiting room, Alexis received us all, without shyness, but with all the grace and nobility of a princess herself, nodding and smiling and hugging everyone that spoke to her.

several friends cautiously spoke of being visited by Julie last night. i tend to be skeptical, despite my belief that time and space are not as simple as we perceive them. but knowing Julie, and knowing these people, i felt i had to believe.

one girl said that Julie had come to her in a dream, and said, "This is real," a message the girl didn't immediately understand.

it did seem cryptic, but this afternoon, there in the waiting room, with the televisions on, people walking around us, the telephones ringing, something extraordinary was happening. i saw clearly that everyone there had been given love and happiness by Julie, love and happiness that bore the unmistakeable imprint of her soul and her smile. i saw a nine year old girl that had just lost her mother not only receiving, but giving back so much love. i saw that it all made sense, and the words "this is real" kept sounding in my head.

the endurance, the persistence, the truth of love, is real, all the love passed on so freely by our princess, our friend, and in the end, our teacher, Julie, now resides in Alexis, her family, and her friends, hopefully to be given again.

this is real. this is real. and in this, there's some hope, some meaning, some comfort. nothing else, i think, could be more real. it may not curb the grief, but i hope that ultimately this truth and the memory of everything she did to show it to me will be more powerful.

so, thank you, Julie. we won't forget.

good night, princess.

Posted by Rob at January 26, 2005 10:44 PM

Comments

Posted by: Tommy at January 31, 2005 05:32 PM

Posted by: Sheila at February 1, 2005 11:48 AM

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