Sunny Side Up April 19, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson A friend like Sam Sam went to church with the Preacher and I that weekend. Before the service started I watched her from the piano bench. Moving among the pews, shaking hands, greeting people as though she was their oldest friend and biggest fan. They'd have hired her on the spot, I chuckled, as pastor of visitation. We hadn't seen Sam for fifteen years, not since we left Ontario for Saskatchewan. On her last visit to our hillside home I snapped her photo. She sits in our heart-shaped willow chair, legs crossed. Beaver Valley behind, blue sky above, grass underfoot. Sam smiles. She wears a white pin-tucked, flowered sundress in that photo; a necklace that looks like popcorn, big earrings, Birkenstocks, and her trademark lipstick. Sam always wears lipstick, even for a hike. "So people can tell I'm a woman, with my short hair," she says. She sent me postcards after we moved. Regularly. They were like her. Small. Cheerful. One sentence, or two. "Hi guys. Snowed today. Sam." Those postcards, like her, made me smile. In the unfamiliarity of my new surroundings, they eased my transition from home to home. They trickled down, the postcards. Life turned corners for Sam and I. A long period of silence ensued, until email interrupted it. She'd seen her kids through their rebellious years and survived without eating them. Me too. For that, God had rewarded her with grandkids. Me too. We shared too much to let this friendship go, I realized. And so, when she retired from her job and decided to take a train trip West in her red suede Rockport Hiking boots, backpack, and lipstick, I couldn't have been more delighted. Sunshine illuminating our winter landscape, we reconnected. And dredged up memories. "Remember that day at Blue Mountain?" I asked her. We'd gone skiing, just us two. All day we'd skied the same hill, giggling like girls at the lift attendant's jokes. At day's end he'd said to me, "Okay, Ma'am, I've wanted to tell you this since morning. Would you please put your headband on right side up? I can't read the words!" We'd laughed so much we could barely stand. As we stood waiting for her train to leave, Sam turned to me. "You're really gonna miss me, you know." She was right, of course. Our shared time had sped by in a streak of laughter and talk. We'd gone deep fast - you have to, when you only have forty-eight hours. "Everyone should have a friend like Sam," my daughter said later. She was right, too. But in my conversations with God, after Sam left, I found myself not only thanking him FOR a friend like Sam, but praying that I could BE a friend like Sam. That's what friends should do, I think; inspire each other to higher heights, and deeper depths. Sam, if you're reading this, thanks. For your many gifts, your perennially positive outlook, your smile behind your lipstick. The prairie snow has melted since you were here. Respond Home |
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