BRENDA

 

Sometimes, you’re having a challenging day and the phone rings. It’s a close friend of almost seven decades who is more like a sister. My friend, Brenda, has had a terribly rough year, with one son having a serious stroke and one son experiencing severe PTSD from serving in the military. Her mother died last week after living for many years with dementia. To top all that off, the house she shares with her husband of 50 years flooded, and they had to live in a hotel for four months. Although I have phoned her several times since May, she didn’t return my calls. I figured it was something I said that upset her. But, as usual, it’s rarely about us when someone is upset. We don’t always know what caused the ghosting, so jumping to conclusions and internalizing seems logical at the time.

Brenda and I have assertive personalities and always speak our truth, even when our assertiveness intimidates others. Most people don’t want to hear the truth. Some are easily offended, even if they’ve presented the same issue multiple times. It’s almost as if they can’t get off the hamster wheel. At some point, I feel compelled to share my opinion in hopes of ceasing the unending regurgitation of the problem. It doesn’t always go well. Brenda and I are hard pills to swallow, but we understand and appreciate each other, even if others don't. Neither of us stays on that wheel for long because the other will call it. We'll always love each other, no matter what. I always prefer someone to be direct, but not everyone can do it. I share that trait with my closest friends.

Even though it’s been months since we last spoke, Brenda started the conversation by telling me I was a fantastic writer. I thought Brenda had lost her mind, but she quickly told me her mother had died, and she was going through her parent's possessions at their house in Borger. She found a copy of a letter she sent our high school principal, Mr. Kimmins, about 35 years ago. Brenda shared with him her appreciation for his leadership. She included three of my poems in her letter to him.

Mr. Kimmins was a strict disciplinarian. There wasn’t any misbehaving that he didn’t know about, and his punishment was swift. We were all scared to death of him, but most of us behaved because of that fear. It wasn’t until later that we appreciated him and understood that he was preparing us for whatever hard lessons life would give us after we left high school. Brenda’s kindness toward him by putting her words in a letter touches me. I remember walking alongside him after one of our high school reunions and telling him what he meant to me. He’s long gone now, but those of us who attended our small high school will always love and admire him.

During the eighties, I wrote a book of poetry and submitted it to various publishing houses, but it was rejected. The book was stored in my parents' house, but they discarded it long ago for whatever reason. I never made a copy of the book, but I must have made copies of several poems that had memories Brenda and I shared and gave them to her.

I remember writing a poem while vacationing in Paris with my mother and Marcy. Marcy was only six years old then, and I was newly divorced. It was about the different roads Brenda and I took as adults. Even though the roads we chose were difficult and vastly different, we were both happy with our choices. I hope that’s one of the poems she found today while going through her parent’s possessions and that she remembers to send them to me.

And whatever is upsetting me today is nothing compared to what Brenda has experienced this past year. Going down memory lane with her today helped me to get over myself. How I cherish my close friends!