[Three years ago today was Thanksgiving 2006. Three years ago today one of my oldest, dearest, and loveliest of friends died of breast cancer. She was only 46. She left behind her husband of 18 years, her twelve-year-old son, and nine-year-old daughter.]
Lorrie Ann MacKenzie Gnos - BFF - Thanks for always supporting me.
Dear Lorrie Sweetie,
Hey, how goes it up in heaven? Are you Miss Popularity with all the angels and other ‘dead people’?? – ha ha. Have you got that place organized and running smoothly? Are you in charge of the Thanksgiving potluck?
Besides Jesus, who else are you hanging around? Do you run into any historical figures, like George Washington or Abraham Lincoln? Would be fun to chat with them. Or how about Princess Di? You always did like her. Speaking of Di, is she the best dressed up there? What exactly do you wear in heaven?
Or is everyone a spirit floating around on clouds? Is heaven all sweetness and light? Hopefully, one day (and not any time soon, mind you!) I’ll find out for myself. You will still be beautiful. But I’ll be a shriveled-up old gal. Hope you recognize me.
First, I know I told you this, but you were my only girlfriend that got it how important my writing is to me. And for that you have my undying loyalty into eternity. That’s one reason why your death was so tragic to me. Because from a strictly selfish standpoint, I lost my only cheerleader. And the fact that you were a really cool friend.
But let’s face it. My loss pales to that of your family, especially L. and A. You were the best mother I have ever known in my life. I feel so badly for your “nearly perfect” children, as you called them. I think of them often. I wonder how they are coping, how they are doing in school, whether they are still taking violin lessons, going to the Sisters Rodeo, the quilting festival. Does L. still want to be a chef or a banker? Who’s going to tell A. about girly things?
And speaking of quilting, A. finished the quilt you started for me and mailed it to me. It is gorgeous – and so me! It’s my prized possession. I keep it in my writing room.
I used to write L. and A. I tried to tell them my perspective that you didn’t really die—you just moved—from Oregon to heaven. And that you are alive and well there. And even though they can’t talk to you in person, they can talk to you in their hearts.
I also told them one story per letter about you. But they never wrote back. I figured it was too hard emotionally for them to respond. Eventually I quit writing. But I have twenty years of stories stored in a special spot in my brain. So if L. and A. ever want to hear them, I’m ready. You know I’m big on stories….
Honestly, I have a weird feeling that M. doesn’t want me to keep in contact. I have my theory why. We can discuss that another time—or not….
Are you keeping an eye on your family from heaven? I think you are. I think your kids can feel your presence around them.
Do you keep an eye on what’s going on in America? (Things are pitiful here!) Or does God give you assignments to check out earthlings in Madagascar or Patagonia or wherever? How do you spend your time?
When I visited you right before you flew off to heaven, I meant to ask you to send me a sign you were there and OK. But I felt too weird broaching the subject.
I think I got my sign anyway. After I got home from that trip, besides being devastated by your death a couple days later, I was also incredibly angry. It made no sense to me whatsoever.
Talk about unfair! I kept thinking how many creeps were walking the planet and yet you’re the one who’s dead? I remember one time in Long’s Drug Store I saw a woman standing in the greeting card section reading cards. I thought how come this woman gets to stand there and read cards and Lorrie doesn’t? I was furious over that woman!
After you died I went on walks each day—to the park where I usually walk—and screamed to myself how horrible I thought the whole deal was. And I mean really blasting away to myself. I thought my head was going to explode.
The next day during my walk, this woman appears out of nowhere. I have been walking at that park for years and never had seen this woman before. She looked EXACTLY like you. I thought it was you! Then I thought she was a ghost. She scared the pants off me.
No lie, she is your identical twin. Same face, hair, body type, height, posture. Uncanny. Unreal. She walked a kooky little dog that was dressed in doggie clothes. My first thought was, I’ve got to take a photo of this woman and send it to L. and A. But then I realized that would freak them out way too much.
Then I realized that she was my sign. That your double on earth—alive, happy, walking a dog—was a sign that you are OK. So the anger subsided.
I still see the woman from time to time. I smile at her. She smiles back. All day today I was thinking of you. Then I went on my walk. Guess who was at the park today? Your double! The dog wore a sweater. Are you knitting in heaven?
Anyway, have lots more to catch up with you about. I’ll write more later. I miss you so badly it makes me cry. I need a Kleenex now….
Keep in touch.
Your pal forever,
Miss Tonette
P.S. I finally got a blog—yeah! I know you told me, “Get a blog, get a blog.” I was so impressed you learned how to do one on your own. I had to pay someone. I designed the thing myself but I couldn’t figure out how to put it together. I will put this letter on my blog. Check it out….
