Remembering a friend

Swampy is watching the sun go down, and remembering an old friend of his. As his medhelp journal is the open window, he is going to talk a little about her.

Swampy was once a young critter. When he was in school, he used to hang out in a coffeehouse run by the Methodist church.

One day a woman walked in. There were two things remarkable about her...one was a toothy, endearing smile. The other was her long red hair. Swampy couldn't take his eyes off her.

During the next few years, Swampy got to know her. She was a student at the university. She loved animals, and dreamed of being a vet. She had considerable knowledge of farm animals, as she had grown up on a farm. Swampy and she would sit in this coffeehouse and talk for hours about farming, about animals, about whatever.

Then she vanished.

It took a long time for Swampy to understand why. He later learned that she had lost her best friend -- her brother, who at the age of 19 was killed on a rural road driving home. She went into a deep freeze, a mourning that lasted for years.

Swampy had all but forgotten his friend when, one day, this bright and sunny woman with red hair walked up to him at work...do you remember me, she asked...yes, said Swampy, yes I remember you. The two of us went out to lunch together. It was a happy reunion. She and Swampy worked for the same company.

Swampy and she saw each other from time to time, but Swampy drifted, because of professional situations, and did not see his friend much, but he always knew how to find her, and, on occasion, would see her.

Then came the day that Swampy went home to his house to find his room mate in full flirt mode with his old friend. Swampy had not seen his friend for a while, and managed to get his room mate to leave them alone for a moment -- how is she doing?

She then told Swampy that she had cancer. Breast cancer, which she had developed when she was 23 years old. Though it had been removed from her breasts, the cancer had spread to her bones. She was in pain.

A few weeks later, she and Swampy went out on a date. Swampy and she just talked like old times, driving around, doing things with one another. It was a celebration of companionship -- not romantic, but very close.

Swampy moved from town, but everytime he want back for vacations or holidays, he always looked her up. She was doing relatively well for a while, and then she turned 30. Shortly afterwards, Swampy was back in town to visit his family.  He hunted up some mutual friends and asked about her.

Swampy's friends shook their heads...Swampy, they said, your friend is home, on morphine. She does not have long to live. Swampy resolved to go see her.

Later on that night, Swampy's friend passed away. She died of cancer, 2 weeks after her 30th birthday.

Her visitation was at the same church where Swampy had met her, years ago. Her mother was easy to spot, as she had the same stunning red hair as her daughter. Swampy walked up and introduced himself. Her mother said...oh you are Swampy...she told us about you.

Swampy was incredibly touched.

Swampy's friend was buried in a little rural cemetery near her parent's house. The Illinois cornfields grow right up against it, the moraines are visible for miles. This is the land that she loved so much.

Though this is a memory from several years ago, Swampy still remembers.

Farewell old friend.