My friend, Connie, passed away last night. The last time I saw her was in April and she looked wonderful, having spent much of the previous year taking chemo treatments for an inoperable cancer. We knew she was only in remission but hope springs eternal and I, for one, felt anyone who looked as well as she did would be one of the lucky ones and beat the disease.
Death haunts seniors because we are constantly made aware of our own limited lifespan when our friends and family are taken from us...one at a time. Connie's cancer returned with a vengeance this past summer and, although we knew how serious it was, we breathed a sigh of relief when she would momentarily rally. Deep down I knew it was only a matter of time, though, as it is for all of us.
When we're young it seems that the only ones who pass on are the elderly and it's sort of expected. But as we age and our contemporaries pass away it hits us harder emotionally. Our little microcosm of a world begins to empty out and there are fewer buddies our age left to reminisce with, fewer people who knew us way back when. I have no doubt in my mind that they have moved on to a happier, better place but it's lonelier here without them.
I spent time with Connie when she was recovering from her first bout of chemo and had lost her hair. As she recovered and gained strength, her hair grew back in even more beautiful than before. She was in a loving relationship and said she was happier than she'd ever been in her life. She was the picture of health and happiness all last winter. And so we hoped.
Connie lives quite a distance from me so it was through our network of Florida friends that I found out she'd fallen ill again. I wasn't surprised, just saddened, because we know that remission doesn't mean cure. She'd gone through the debilitating treatments just to gain a bit more time with her loved ones here on earth and she succeeded for a while.
I'll miss her and I'll never forget her.
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