When the Smoke Clears

My friend died last night. I cannot come home to be there for someone I love, to hold her hand one last time as her health deteriorated. I cannot come back to attend a funeral. Or a wake. Or any other memorial. I have to remain here. It is probably the hardest part of deployment: we cannot be there for those we love if they are not in our immediate family.

Instead, I hurt a little inside, but want to celebrate the wonderful life that this beautiful woman gave us.

Fran died of cancer. She had many bouts of it over the last few years, each time undergoing treatments that weakened her physically, sometimes emotionally, but she always came back from it all.

She was a true military spouse, with all the travel that involves, living in several places in Europe, relics of which decorate her house in our little mountain town. She took in soldiers who needed a place for a day or two. She gave of herself in so many ways, but always drawing strength from those encounters.

I remember sitting in her office many days, listening to her complaints which she always minimized, and she wanting to hear of the struggles I had been going through. She was a great listener. I hope I was able to be the same for her.

Joining the military was a big step that I discussed with her before committing. I also discussed my dreams of my medical career. She has kept on me about both ever since. She was always so proud I felt humbled.

I remember being a sounding board for her ideas to teach a class a little better. She appreciated, even advocated my few meager suggestions as if they were gold.

I remember seeing over the years her white hair falling out, then coming back, then falling out again. And her choices of scarves and wigs. And her big glasses when she had to grade papers too long. And how her very soft, tired voice would change to a full, resounding voice when she taught. And the complete honesty with which she shared about her illness with her students.

She and her family had me over for dinner a number of times, classic family dinners wherein we sat for a while in the living room talking, Fran, her husband, her daughter and any other guests, then a few moments laughing in the kitchen as we brought the food out to the table, then everyone sitting down in the dining room, grace, and the passing around of a variety of wines. Finally, after everything was cleared, more time sitting at the table with more talking, more stories, more laughter.

And I heard from another friend that Fran knew these would be her final days. And yet she thought of others, her students. She still took the time and energy to write out final paperwork, even final exams, just so her students wouldn’t be faced at the end of their semester with an exam written by a new teacher with different expectations and no understanding of what and how she taught. There was a reason her students went to her classes.

I thank God for allowing such a beautiful person touch my life with love for far longer than I ever deserved. I can understand, though, why he decided he wanted her closer to Him now.

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