It will be thirteen years this Wednesday that a very dear friend of mine committed suicide by shooting herself in the head. She did it exactly 15 days after she'd attended my daughter's wedding. After all this time I still question why. Never once in the twenty-five plus years that I'd known her would I have ever dreamed our friendship would end so horribly. Never once did she display sadness or temper, she was always cheerful, always thoughtful and caring. She had this quirky sense of humor and chattered constantly like a squirrel with an newfound acorn. She was physically beautiful, yet she didn't seem to know it, She was talented in so many ways, yet she didn't boast. She was a star, yet she never failed to put others first.
Some months after her passing, in the wee hours of the morning, I stood in the doorway of my kitchen. A warm light was streaming through the room apparently devoid of a specific source. I rubbed my eyes to make sure what I was seeing wasn't due to tired or defective vision, but my eyesight was fine. As I studied this unusual phenomenon, a feeling of familiarity washed over me. I'd been in its presence before, many, many, many times. I'd been warmed by its loving spirit, I'd been cheered by its happiness, I'd been privileged to have been its friend.
I absolutely believe my friend visited that morning to let me know that she was in a better place. I absolutely believe she came to lift my sadness and shine a light in the mourning that had enveloped me from the moment I'd heard of her death.
In life, she truly cared about others, so it stands to reason that when she was no longer with us, she'd do anything she could to take away the sadness and bring a ray of light into our hearts.
Miss you, dear friend, always and forever.