Just a few hours ago, one of my best friends died. We didn't know each other that long, but we accidentally built an amazing friendship. She became one of the most important presences in my life. I write this through a stream of tears, and with a hole in my heart.
I met her a couple years ago, at her home. Her child had attempted suicide and I responded. A few months later we saw each other at the community college where I teach EMS and law enforcement. It turns out, she worked there..though it took us a while to piece together our original meeting. We had a brief fling, lasting only a couple of a months, a true summer romance.
Afterward, we transitioned to a friendship that - though it only lasted maybe a year and a half total - has been one of the most satisfying and fulfilling of my life. We didn't spend a ton of time together, but it was all incredibly high quality. I made time to come by the college at least once a week and eat lunch with her. She worked in a beautiful, quiet, peaceful building. I always looked forward to getting there, taking my vest off in the back room of her office, sitting outside by the pond with her, or going for a stroll through the shady oak trees.
Once in a while we'd split a pizza, and very occasionally - maybe only two or three times ever - I'd stop and get a bag of very expensive candy that she loved. For a few weeks we'd each have a piece, after lunch, until it was gone. Once there was a donut truck on campus; she delighted in taking a silly picture of me standing in front of it. We didn't go out often, but a couple of times we went out together for Indian. We'd eat and catch up on our weeks, our love lives, gab about our pets, and trade house plants. She would poke fun at me for “working a million hours” and taking things like mowing the lawn too seriously.
This past December - 11 short months ago - she was in Spain, visiting her parents. She texted me and told me about the call. Breast cancer.
When she got back stateside there was a flurry of doctor's appointments. The outlook was good, though. A little chemo, surgery maybe, some radiation... Within a few months she would be back in the game with a good, long life expectancy.
Sometimes our weekly "lunches" morphed into me sitting with her at the infusion clinic while she took her chemotherapy. No one said anything, but I think everyone loved seeing a square looking cop come in to sit with this beautiful, tattooed, hippy chick in the flowy skirts and hand-knitted sweaters.
Over the weeks, her hair went. Her weight plummeted. Her face grew gaunt. In June came the big surgery. I was able to see her several times immediately afterward, as she convalesced. It was agonizing. I can't imagine what her pain must have been like. But she always met me with a smile on her face, always talking about the future...not in a dismissive way, just completely in-the-moment, looking forward to the next hour and the next day, not fussing about the next year or the next phase.
Her recovery from the surgery was swift. She worked hard. There was a honeymoon period where she was recovered and felt good. Then came the 911 calls, the ambulance rides with my co-workers, the hospitalizations. Crippling weakness. Uncontrolled GI bleeding. Miserable inflammation from the drugs.
Uh-oh, and then maybe another malignancy. I visited her during these hospital stays. Never a complaint, never a sour face, never a rude remark at anyone (though she did love joking about the how terribly the hospital handled her vegetarian diet). Just smiles, thanking me for my time coming to see her, and looking forward to being home to her plants, her pets, her family...
Less than two weeks ago I had lunch with her at work. She felt pretty good. We sat outside, with one of the picnic areas to ourselves. We watched one particular bird, and we wondered what it did when it rained, when it snowed, and when the hurricane came. I took my time with lunch; I'm not sure why, but I didn't rush that day.
This past Thursday - six short, precious days ago - I got a text from her family. "Can you come help get her into the car?" Something wrong. More tests. Another doctor's appointment. Later that day I came and helped her back into the house. A long text that evening that began:
"A biopsy last week confirmed metastatic cancer has spread to lymph nodes in the lower back. A mass on the left ovary and swollen lymph nodes on the left side of the neck may be involved too, with further scans pending to look more closely.
Her doctors have told us treatment should not be expected to be curative.
The goal now is as much time as possible, with the best quality of life we can manage."
I was crushed, but went about my weekend, preparing for a SWAT competition. I left town Sunday morning for the comp. On Monday morning, another text:
"Multiple transfusions blood numbers getting back up. Ordered a CT scan of the chest, MRI of brain (today) and bone marrow biopsy (tomorrow). All of which will inform the time of the next decisions.
In general plan is to get GI bleeding under control and balance remaining time with quality of life.
Blunt timeline. If no treatment, weeks. With successful treatment 6 months maybe.
She has a hard time typing, speaking loudly and hearing very well. Slow on processing and tired."
With a full teaching schedule at the academy today, tomorrow, and Friday, I left the competition early, as soon as I was done with my final event yesterday afternoon. I got home around 9:30 PM, and got ready to teach today. My plan was to go see her this evening. I was hoping she would have "good" days, I'd get a final goodbye with her. Before I finished teaching today I got another text saying she'd been moved to hospice.
I showed up there around 6. I walked into the room, took one look at her and knew. Her family confirmed it. A blur of teary introductions, a lot of hugs, some awkward laughs. Back home with a huge hole in my life where a week ago, a friend was.
I'm doubt that many of you want to read something like this. I don't write it for pity, but as I've expressed before, this is how I process. But I also wanted to acknowledge the wonderful person Anilia was, and memorialize her in some small way. And as I always attempt to do, there are some lessons, some actionable advice.
I realized that I’ve failed terribly at advice I gave a few short weeks ago. Although she knew exactly how much she meant to me, I deeply and mournfully regret that Anilia was not able to read what I’ve written about her. But here are some things I think I did right.
I don't have a single photograph of me and Anilia together...or as I realized to my dismay, a single photograph of her. I take pictures of absolutely everything. I'm an inveterate shutterbug, but I can't find a picture of Anilia. Part of me wants to say "be the asshole asking people to take your picture." But I think there's a deeper lesson for me. When I was with Anilia I wasn't worried about my phone. I wasn't somewhere else mentally, I was with her, in the moment. Don't waste away your days dreaming about "some day" or reminiscing about "back when." And certainly don't be on your phone during the moments that matter (hint: all of the moments you spend with those you care about matter). Appreciate the here and now.
Don't think there will be time "one day." Because at some point, there won't. The texts said "weeks" and "months." I thought I had time. I planned to write her a long letter of all the things I would miss about her. I planned to see her, I hoped to have another conversation with her, to tell her I loved her one more time. To make sure she know how special she was to me. I regret my decision; if I could go back I would skip the SWAT competition in a heartbeat, and spend those final hours with my amazing friend.
Whatever it is you plan to do...do it now. This is your one life. You will never be younger and have more time than you do RIGHT NOW, so don't wait. Take advantage of it.
Tell the people that matter, that they matter. I'm so glad I was transparent in my affection for Anilia. I never hesitated to let he know how much I treasured our friendship, how much I valued her intelligence, wanderlust, sense of adventure, love of life, and how much I appreciated her being there for me. I have no regrets at all as it relates to that. And I'm glad.
Finally, you can be anyone you want to be. Be like Anilia. I was around her a lot after her diagnosis. She had every reason, and as much opportunity as anyone, to be a complainer. She could have bemoaned her fate, become bitter, and I couldn't have been mad at her for it. But she didn't. She remained - through it all, through all the pain and treatments and setbacks - she remained cheerful. She smiled each time I walked through the door. She told me what was going on, but factually, without dwelling on it.
She was such an amazing person, and it's going to take me a while to bounce back from this one. It may be a couple of weeks before I post anything here.