A week ago today my boyfriend and I got the news we never expected to get, at least not in 2015. We found out that a friend of ours from high school, Lanie Shepit (who we knew as Melanie Davis) passed away. It was a shock because she was only 52 and was relatively healthy (or so we thought) less than a few weeks before.
News of her death brought instant tears to my eyes...and a flood of memories that rushed into my head unexpectedly. I thought about high school, about the silly dance group that four of us formed. I thought about the argument that ensued, so trivial that I cannot even remember its source. Words said in anger that could not be undone. I remembered how I walked away, instead of fighting. So uncharacteristic of me. Decades ago. So important then, so unimportant now.
Flash forward a few decades, right around the time of our 20th high school reunion. Though I didn't go, I reconnected with many from high school during that time. She was one. I reached out to her, knowing her troubled past, hoping I could share what I thought was the answer to all her problems. HE had been the answer to many of mine, I thought. I talked to her about Jesus, but was overbearing and I am sure, judgmental. It turned her off and we, once again, parted ways, much to my chagrin. She, in essence, said thanks, but no thanks.
Another decade passed and many high school friends were meeting up in Longmont, the town where we attended High School. My new boyfriend, the love of my life, was in town from Philadelphia and we used it as an excuse to get together and drink, as if we needed an excuse. I was horrified when I was told that Melanie would be coming by...and several in the group said she was a 50/50 bet because she knew I was there...and she had issues with me.
I, too, was apprehensive and did not want to see her, yet I struggled to remember the true reason why we parted ways. Yes, we had a troubled past, but was it worth the distance now? We were both close to 50 years old. Was it not time to grow up? I remember thinking, ultimately, whatever will be, will be, and relied heavily on Ric, who had known her the longest, for strength.
I don't remember the details, but Melanie did show up at that bar about 6 years ago to this very month. We talked, we laughed, we hugged. We wondered what in the world happened, but decided to put it all behind us and move the hell on with life. I'm so thankful we did. Eternally thankful.
Less than two years later we were at our 30th high school reunion, drinking and dancing together, acting as if nothing had ever happened. She led a drunken me to the bathroom, all the while calling me a wimp because I didn't want to go by myself, all the while loving me despite me. What greater gift could anyone ever give another person?
I am thankful for Facebook because I have messages from her that I can read and share with others, long after she is gone. Words that say "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "I just keep moving" and "It's ok, I understand." Words that I would never, ever have if we had not reconciled 6 years ago. For that, I am grateful to God because I know that He is ultimately the one responsible. Too many times have I had to deal with the untimely death of those with whom I was not reconciled. It is excruciatingly painful and something I hope to never relive.
A few days ago many of my high school friends, including my love, Ric, met in Longmont to say goodbye to our dear friend. I was unable to attend because I was away on a business trip in Austin. Ric said that he was talking to one of Melanie's daughters, Bethany, saying that we always say sorry for your loss when we should say sorry for OUR loss. To me, that truly says it all because knowing her was truly OUR gain, but losing her is most certainly OUR loss.
I'm Sorry for Your (Our) Loss
