My dear friend Jen and I met in the bathroom of the Albertson's grocery store in the small town of Livingston, Montana on a hot summer day. We were both juggling one year old sons and preschool daughters as we made a bathroom trip - and recognized a kindred spirit.
It was an instant friendship.
Jen and I raised our children together in that small Montana town for seven years. We drove our children to and from the same schools, walked and talked along the banks of the Yellowstone River and met up at the Farmer's Market while our daughters traded playdates at each other's homes.
My daughter's favorite memory of Jen is the Soup Spooktacular potlucks she hosted each Halloween. Can you feel how much I miss my friend?
In my mind's eye, I picture a photo I have of Jen from a camping trip, one child in a backpack on her back while she holds another in her arms, wrapped across her chest. Jen was a gorgeous mother, and I loved watching every moment of her mothering.
A few days ago, Jen celebrated another trip around the sun. I wrote her this poem for her birthday in the hopes that she may she be well remembered. May these small words remind you of those who are imprinted inside you, even as the miles or years may be there, too.
Prayer Beads
Someone once told me
about the patron saint of
showing up. If I had to name
this saint, I'd nominate you.
The bags of groceries when my car
had broken down – spaghetti sauce
and pasta, a note coated in kindness.
May Day baskets bursting with muffins
and flowers, heralds of the coming spring.
Notes and rides and cards, a pine
scented candle and a pink cashmere
scarf. Each specific note of “I see you”
and “You're not alone.”
If there's a patron saint of
showing up, it's you. Now, across
the miles you show up, but not at my door.
You arrive inside my head. You bring me
flowers and bags of groceries.
You wrap me in a warm pink scarf and
whisper, “Let's trust that a solution
will present itself.” Strengthened,
I walk out my door, each gift you
offer a prayer bead tucked inside my palm.
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