She was 16 teetering on 17 when I met her. She was shy, more an observer than a doer. Her mother talked garrulously while her little brother flipped through Encyclopedia Brown books and her older brother bopped his head to some rock n roll drowning out the clickety clack white noise. I settled in to get to know her.
I was only a few years her senior so it wasn’t difficult to harken back to my teen years. I dug right in with my first line of questioning while her mother was tending to her brothers out in the hall. Boys. I asked about boyfriends and crushes and heart throbs. She told me she hadn’t had a real boyfriend but she really wanted one before it was too late. She unrolled a poster of Troy Aikman that she wanted me to hang across from her bed. I asked her if she meant over her bed. She emphatically said NO. She wanted to see Troy’s eyes and dimples from her perch. I teased her like a big sister would, having established a warm kinship from the start. She nudged me jokingly while I made exaggerated smoochy sounds. Then she poked me in an effort to shut me up before her mom walked back in.
She knew had a confidante in me, and I knew I had a new friend.
Over time she shared with me all the stuff that frightened her and angered her. She told me all about the dances and parties and slumber parties she was missing back home. She lamented at how her mail had dropped off the longer she was away. She worried about being forgotten, about not making her mark, about not making a difference. We watched movies together, mostly in silence except for the occasional beeping of equipment. I gave her a VHS tape of my favorite movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She rolled her eyes, right on cue.
Her brothers stayed a while but kept their distance. I was her friend, her rock away from home. Her mom and I became close and shared easy laughs at a time when she thought she might never smile again. Her father came in and out of town, and embraced me each time he came and went.
Her easy spirit darkened, and soon she was too full of toxins to communicate verbally. Her face had swollen like the victim of a 1000 hornet stingers, and her sweet mouth drooled constantly. Her mind was in tact while her body failed. She tried to point and nod and she still held my hands while I sat with her, telling her ridiculous stories from my high school days. I knew she was laughing when she squeezed my hands with both of hers, the most energy she could exert. I talked to her like she was my teenage pal, not a patient stuck in a quarantined bone marrow transplant ward. I never uttered the word “leukemia,” not out of denial or discomfort, we simply had so much more to talk about.
Weeks later, after hugs and tears and prayers, she went home.
Her mother sent me a lovely letter that I still have, close to 15 years later. Enclosed with the letter was my copy of Breakfast of Tiffany’s with a note written in her wobbly handwriting, “I don’t know why this movie is so great. There aren’t any cute boys in it. Maybe I’ll like it when I’m older.” Her mother also told me that I was her daughter’s only friend all those months in the hospital and that the family appreciated that I treated her as such. They valued that I saw her as a person, not a patient. And with that letter, wrapped in fine pink tissue, was a single white rose. Her mother told me she had grabbed it in a fleeting moment of lucidity because she wanted me to have a rose from her daughter’s casket.
All these years later, her family still lives in their farmhouse off a road with a number instead of a street name. Her younger brother is a married man now. Her older brother has a daughter, whose temperament is a lot like his little sister’s as the family tells it.
She was 16 when I met her. She was weeks shy of 18 when she died.
Her birthday is December 25. And so every Christmas, while the world celebrates the birth of Jesus, I pray and thank the world for giving me Jana.
Ilina, you could do no better than to keep the memory of someone alive and loved. If the title makes some people angry, as you teased, then they aren’t paying attention, either to you or their ministers.
What beautiful memories.
Oh my gosh, Ilina, talk about inspirational, beautiful, sentimental, and so absolutely perfect for this holiday. Your story tugged at my heart. Thank you, my friend. And Merry Christmas. 🙂
Such a beautiful story, Ilina. Thank you!
Nice story, Ilina. Powerful writing.
Oh shit, there goes my eyeliner and mascara. Seriously. So well written and such a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing, brings things into perspective of what a life means, not just a holiday means.
Just lovely.
Beautiful post. Thank you for sharing your friend’s memory.
What a wonderful,moving post. You have a gift with words. Thank you for sharing.
Just beautiful. Thank you for sharing this story, what a good friend and confidante. I can’t imagine this offending anyone, well, I can, but not anyone I would want to be around. Merry Christmas to you.
What a lovely post! Thank you so much for sharing with us.
Ilena, that is a lovely memory, captured in wonderful writing. A tear is wonderful seasoning in our Christmas fruitcake of laughter and smiles. Thank you.
Beautifully written, what a wonderful friend you were to her, I can tell it meant the world to her and her family. <3
This was such a well written & beautiful story. A true reminder of what the season is all about. How lucky she was to have a friend like you…
Well done – touching post. Such a beautiful story of friendship. Merry Christmas, Ilina!
Such a beautiful story. Thank you for keeping the memory alive and telling the story.
Merry Christmas to you and your family Ilina. I hope you get tacos and sushi too!
What an incredibly beautiful memory! I’m so happy Jana had you and that she touched your life. Thank you for sharing this story with all of us.
You are an angel. I’m so honored to know you.
Also, I’m with Jana. I never did understand why Breakfast at Tiffany’s was so widely acclaimed… Maybe it really is a grown up thing. 🙂
Well, I got here from a link at allthingsfadra.com and you made me tear up. A wonderful read. Will be subscribing. Thanks for sharing.
I was at first taken, then caught, then enveloped by this tragic but wonderful telling of a great friendship.
Bravo for telling it simply, cleanly and beautifully. I am thinking of those brothers, and wondering what mine might have gone through had it been me. I’m so glad it wasn’t. Your story reminded me how glad I am to be alive. And I needed that.
Blessings upon your Christmas friend.