My friend Linda died today. We had been friends since our sons were in the same 2nd grade class, thirty years ago. I miss her and my heart is breaking.
This is our story. I have been trying to write about other things but every time I sit down to write, I am overwhelmed with a sense of loss and confusion, not knowing how to honor our friendship, now that she is not sharing the physical realm. There are so many things we still wanted to do together. Now, I can carry her in my heart. I can listen for her wisdom in the trees and in the waves but it won’t be the same and I will miss hearing her speak from the heart to guide me when I need help.
When we first met, Linda was not ready for adventuring out into the bigger world. She had grown up in a small town near Eugene, Oregon. Her family didn’t do much exploring beyond the regular camping trips each summer. Linda’s expertise was early childhood development. She was deeply intuitive and very easily heard what children were not able to articulate clearly. She was a strong advocate for her two sons in every aspect of their lives.
I had a different set of strengths. I had already traveled much of the world, having lived in Germany for a year during college. My parents both craved adventure and each found different ways to introduce my three brothers and me to the world outside our neighborhood.
One year, not long after Linda and I became friends, she mentioned a desire to go across town to a repair shop. Her husband’s electric razor was broken and the only repair shop she could find was across the bridge, on the east side of Portland. It took a minute for me to understand that there was a problem. Driving across town was such a common occurrence in my life that, at first, I didn’t understand. This was the start of a part of our friendship that endured until the very end – the gift of pausing to listen and sharing thoughts on the path to understanding.
I could have offered to drive. That would have accomplished the task of getting the razor repaired. But it was clear from the beginning that Linda wanted to expand her reach in the world. I don’t remember if we ever spoke about that desire specifically, but in so many ways, Linda’s desire to grow influenced our adventures throughout the years.
I coached Linda through that outing to drive across town, checking in with her, making it okay to be afraid, applauding her success at each small milestone along the 10-mile drive. From that experience, Linda was able to drive to more and more places that were difficult for her. The boundary of the bridges and the river that had prevented her from visiting the east side simply went away.
Linda coached me in how to navigate the social relationships in our grade school community. When the entire PTA turned against me over a budget issue, Linda was by my side. When parents acted in ways I could not decipher, Linda translated the social systems that were foreign to me. Much like she did for her sons, Linda helped me find my place in a social structure that was threatening and confusing.
Through child raising and divorces, job changes and distance, our friendship developed. Our ability to connect on a deep personal level and challenge each other to continue to grow was the foundation for a friendship that survived differences in political views and life events. We each read a variety of self-help books, searching for ways to be better mothers or happier individuals. We would meet and share what we had learned. We challenged each other to be vulnerable, to seek difficult insights, to grow.
We were out walking from Washington Park to the Oregon Rose garden in June of 2024, a little lost and enjoying it, as usual, when Linda asked what my next trip would be. I had recently returned from 3 months in South Africa. Since retiring in 2022, I had been doing work-exchanges in Guatemala, Australia and Costa Rica, pushing my own boundaries with a very different kind of travel.
We had traveled together several times in the past. When I spent a year in South Carolina for work, Linda came to visit with me. When I went back to Costa Rica for Spanish immersion classes the second time, Linda joined me. We had been snorkeling off Caye Caulker in Belize, we had played near Playa del Carman, Mexico. We had stayed in rustic cabins in the woods and watched winter storms from cabins at the beach. Every outing was an adventure and over the years, Linda became more and more comfortable with taking the lead.
When I said I was headed to Spain, Linda expressed her interest in joining me. She had recently retired and was ready to see somewhere new. We talked through some of the trip logistics and a basic plan was made. She would need time to think about it, research it a bit, as was her habit. Two weeks later, she was ready to commit.
August 25th, my friend Kathy drove me to the airport where I met Linda at the gate. Linda was uneasy about trying to meet in Madrid and asked that we fly together. Travel coaching continued as we made our way through Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, clearing customs and enjoying the benefit of lounge access that came with our international tickets.
Madrid was amazing, in spite of our fatigue. We discovered senior discounts for the hop-on hop-off buses as well as museum. Linda and I frequently split meals at restaurants, having similarly sized appetites, so we saved lots of money on food. We practiced being lost and enjoying the adventures that came with finding our way back to the target destination.
We left Madrid in a rented Audi A4, not a large car by US standards, that was great on the highway. In the tiny underground parking garages, we practiced the team sport of parking, an activity that could have been the source of big arguments. For us, it was yet another chance to practice advanced communications skills in a tense setting. All the years of learning to talk about uncomfortable topics really helped us free the car from difficult parking garages without damaging the car bumpers or each other’s feelings.
We enjoyed an early morning stroll through Cordoba, we snorkeled in Tarifa, toured Toledo and Gibraltar and Malaga. Each new location was an adventure as we had made only a bare skeleton of a plan. We had each found a few key places we wanted to visit but the details of each day were based on how we felt in the moment. Jet-lagged in Madrid, we made time for afternoon naps. Finding our way across the border into Gibraltar turned into an adventure when we learned UBER could not take us there, it took a taxi, a bus and a walk to find dinner.
Our last stop was Benalmádena, a small town just west of Malaga. The view from the Airbnb was just as advertised, the whitewashed town below us with a backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea. The magic of our journey continued when we wandered out, looking for dinner, and found a full-blown festival underway – the Arabian Souk. Streets were lined with vendors, there were people everywhere. We went with the flow and found ourselves in a little piece of Morocco where band members were getting ready to perform. It turned out they were a traveling band and soon left the spot, playing wonderful music. We stayed to enjoy traditional Moroccan mint tea and pastry. It was like we made it to Morocco after all, without taking the ferry ride across the Mediterranean Sea.
On September 3rd, Linda’s last day, I drove us to the airport in Malaga to return the rental car and see Linda off. She talked about how much she enjoyed the trip and how it had given her a fresh perspective on what really mattered. She had realized that remodeling the bathroom and cleaning out the garage really weren’t topics worth the worrisome energy she had put into them. We talked about what we had enjoyed and what we would do different for our next trip. We had no reason to doubt that there would be a next trip. We were just getting started!
Now I know that it was our last trip, and that makes me very sad.
In late December, Linda had tests done that showed tumors in her brain and abdomen. By mid-January, doctors concluded there was no curative plan, only palliative care. I was in New Zealand, six weeks before my planned return to the states. I changed my flights with the intention of being with Linda during her final weeks. My hope was that I could offer some respite to her family. I knew how scary it can be to be sick and vulnerable and I wanted to support Linda in person.
January 18th, Linda’s son Daniel texted me to say the oncologist thought Linda would pass in the next 24 hours. I was still in rural New Zealand, scheduled to start my return trip on January 22nd. Dan set up a call so that I could talk to Linda before she passed. She was not lucid at the time, but it gave me a chance to tell her that I loved her and wanted to be with her. It was a hard call, especially not being able to even see her.
Linda didn’t pass that night or the next. When I boarded the 14-hour flight in Sydney, she was alive. It was surreal not knowing if she would be alive when I landed in Los Angeles. After a short layover in LAX, I flew into Portland to learn Linda was still with us. My friend Kathy picked me up at the airport and drove me straight to the hospital. Somehow we knew, there was no time to rest after the travel from New Zealand.
When I got to Linda’s room, Daniel was there, sitting quietly. It had been several days since the oncologist had given Linda a short window to live. Daniel was exhausted. His greatest regret was that his young son would not have Linda in his life growing up. It was a true testament to Linda that her son loved and valued her so deeply.
Dan and I talked with each other and to Linda. I suggested that Dan might leave to go home since I was there to keep Linda company until her partner, Bruce, arrived. After Dan left, I played waltz music for Linda on my phone. Linda was known to dance anywhere waltz music was playing and I hoped it brought her peace. I said my final goodbyes and sat touching her warm hands until Bruce arrived. Around 8 PM, Brian, my son, picked me up to go to Kathy’s house where I would stay for a week.
Linda died the next morning, around 5:30 am.
At first, I thought she was waiting for me to arrive so she would know her sons would have support after she passed. That might have been true. Days later, I realized, waiting was her gift to me, giving me that precious time to see her and talk to her, still in her body. I needed to see how sick she was to begin to understand that she was really dying. Even now, weeks later, I am struggling to believe she is gone.
I know that we carry those we love in our hearts. That doesn’t change the sense of loss for the living version of a person. There is still a void where a person used to be. I am struggling to reconcile the plans we had for the future with the absence of my friend. Somehow, my heart and my brain won’t accept Linda’s passing.
Linda was an atheist but she had been very interested in near death experiences. She read books and watched videos to learn more about what people had gone through. I think that interest started when she was going through treatment for breast cancer in 2022. I hope she had an amazing crossing, something noteworthy. If her body hadn’t been so compromised with the aggressive cancer, I would wish that she had found her way back to us. But that didn’t happen. There is no explanation for sudden onset of the cancer. No amount of research or searching will tell me why she had to leave so soon. It just happened.
What would Linda say to me, right now, if she were sitting in this room? She would say she is not in pain. She would tell me she will still travel with me, just in a different way. She would ask me to check in with Daniel and Kevin.
And she would applaud my intention to continue the journey. Maybe she would encourage me to tell my stories and help more people discover the world. I will run with that advice.
My time with Linda has ended. I am still amazed that the trip that started with Linda traveling with me in Spain ended with seeing her dying in the hospital.
Taking a step back, maybe that isn’t entirely accurate. My journey with Linda started 30 years ago at Hazeldale grade school. Our lives intersected as young mothers with very different backgrounds. We created a friendship based on each of having a desire to learn and to grow. We supported each other through the hard times and found ways to celebrate small victories along the way. We forgave each other’s mistakes; we offered solace through the darkness and we laughed at the silliness that is life. I am grateful for the friendship we enjoyed.
One Response
this made me cry.
what a beautiful friendship you had.
i know from experience how much your writing this would have meant to her family.