Maria

She went to my church in South Africa. We shared family stories and deep theological thoughts over Rooibos tea and cheesecake, her favorite. In Hermanus we'd run on the beach, she, barefoot, and look for whales together. We never saw any. Her easy laugh and wild curls were natural complements of her carefree personality. We called each other "kindred spirits"--we were. She was one of the few I'd always stay in touch with. The last e-mails we wrote each other were in mid-January, she wrote me last. Having one of my "Maria moments," which I often do, that longing to talk to her, her to listen in that non-judgemental, wise, kind but strong way, I e-mailed her at the beginning of March.

Yesterday, March 29, her sister wrote me back. She was sorry to tell me, especially over e-mail, but Maria had passed away January 25. She attached photos of her--this beautiful, colorful, bright-eyed woman--who had been alive in my mind since I last saw her. She died in a car accident.

Two months have passed, but my mourning process has only just begun. I'm far away from our mutual friends, many of whom have already reached closure. She's the first friend I've lost--a very good friend. I feel like my world's about to change.

Brannon said something once: "The older you get, the more extreme happiness and sadness become." When you're little, the best thing that happens to you is the ice cream truck coming, and the worst, scraping your knee. As you get older, the best is marriage, children, grandchildren. The most tragic is death.