Remembering Michelle

In the early 80s, when life was filled with hope and anticipation, Michelle entered my life and became an irreplaceable friend. We were both expectant mothers, with Michelle carrying her firstborn and me awaiting the arrival of my second child. In typical 80s mom fashion, Michelle wore black leggings and an oversized black maternity sweater with a bold red bow that seemed to symbolize the gift she was about to deliver to the world. Little did I know that she would become a precious gift in my own life.

Our paths crossed at a pizza restaurant, where we had arranged to meet and get to know each other. Michelle and her husband, Tim, had recently moved from Pennsylvania to Maryland and had just joined the church we attended. Michelle was a vibrant and talkative soul, never shying away from sharing her thoughts and experiences. From that first meeting, it was as if we had known each other for ages, and our friendship quickly blossomed into something beautiful.

As young mothers, we became inseparable, navigating the joys and challenges of raising our children together. Michelle may not have had a college education, but her intelligence shone through in her quick wit and curiosity. She was always ready to follow me on my crazy adventures and lend her childlike sense of fun to any situation.

One memorable escapade we embarked upon was a fundraiser for our church. With limited funds but plenty of time, we decided to deliver phone books, as we would be paid per book. We enlisted the help of our husbands and another couple to maximize our efforts. The sight of Michelle and me playfully pumping iron with the hefty yellow books brought laughter to our spouses and children. Even when we encountered setbacks, such as running over a fallen mattress that got stuck under our van, we tackled them together with determination and camaraderie. In the end, we managed to contribute around $300 to the cause.

Michelle brought an unwavering sense of curiosity, trust, wonder, and persistence to our friendship, while I added initiative, loyalty, laughter, and drive. Our friendship was a treasure, more valuable than any possession we owned.

Living in one of the wealthiest counties in the nation, where money was scarce for two homemakers like us, we shared what we had. I freely loaned Michelle anything she needed, treating her like family. However, she had a different perspective on possessions. She valued her clothes, furniture, and car as cherished belongings, hesitant to loan them out. While I tried to encourage her to embrace generosity, she held firm in her belief of being a steward of her possessions, caring for them with utmost caution. Our disagreements didn't diminish our friendship; instead, they challenged us to understand each other better.

As the years flew by, our friendship grew deeper. Yet, God had his plans for us. In 2011, my dear friend Michelle passed away, leaving behind cherished memories and unfulfilled dreams. Michelle and I had been friends for many years and shared countless conversations about our plans for the future. Little did we know that our lives would take unexpected turns, intertwining our paths in ways we never anticipated.

Our families had a tradition of spending the week after Christmas through New Year's together, planning for our business and strengthening our bond. It didn't matter that New Year's Day was my wedding anniversary; we celebrated together, creating a tapestry of laughter and joy.

We would gather around, watch B-rated movies like "Chickenasaurus" and laugh at the absurdity. I can still picture Tim in a toga, bringing smiles to our faces during our millennium party. We shared evenings by the fire pit, telling jokes and enjoying each other's company. Our sleepovers with toddlers brought endless delight; even the smokey bars and loud music felt like a vibrant symphony of friendship. There were magic shows, skiing and snowboarding adventures, dancing (or at least my attempts), intense board game sessions, and impromptu slides down hotel banisters.

We spoke of retirement around the age of fifty-five, when we would travel the world and become honorary aunts to each other's children. She dreamed of lounging on the beach, mingling with celebrities, or embarking on archaeological expeditions. Michelle had plans to move to a beachside paradise where loved ones would gather, each with a house near the shore. We were rich and famous in our visions, living abundant lives.

Time passed swiftly, and our lives took different paths. I was engrossed in the business with Tim while Michelle focused on her children and pondered her future after they graduated high school. She witnessed her son joining the Marines and her daughter trying to find her way. My children were entering college, and as our lives diverged, we embraced one another without judgment, offering support and understanding.

Michelle's health became a central topic of our conversations. Concerned about various symptoms, she visited countless doctors, searching for answers. Hair loss, night sweats, and constant fatigue plagued her. She feared the onset of early menopause and worried about undiagnosed medical conditions. Medical tests came back negative, but her anxiety persisted. She became an expert in her health, delving into online research and seeking validation for her concerns. I struggled to balance supporting my friend, validating her concerns, and running a business.

Nevertheless, our friendship endured. We continued to make plans, looking forward to our twenty-third year as friends. Our annual post-Christmas gathering at Snow Shoe, a ski resort, was approaching, coinciding with my 25th wedding anniversary on January 1, 2008. However, life had other plans in store for us.

As my husband and I returned from a holiday trip, a voicemail from Tim awaited us, delivering devastating news. Michelle had received a call from her doctor, and they were meeting that day to discuss the results. Our trip to Snowshoe had to be canceled. Instead, we spent New Year's together, in quiet contemplation, trying to come to terms with the deadly disease that had invaded Michelle's body. We watched an old Dick Clark New Year's Eve special while I did most of the talking, attempting to maintain an air of optimism. Deep down, we both knew the reality of the situation. Tears were shed, breaking through the barriers of our normally stoic personas.

Life had taken an abrupt turn. I became the friend I wished to have in my times of need. On Michelle's 40th birthday, we escaped to Ocean City, which she adored. We sang Elvis songs and cherished the moments together. I made a video to celebrate her, reminding her of the joy and love she brought into our lives. We allowed ourselves to be carefree and childlike, immersing ourselves in laughter and merriment.

Over the next year, I accompanied Michelle to numerous doctor visits, standing by her side during chemotherapy sessions. I had to balance these commitments with my business and family responsibilities, but I was determined to be there for her. When chemotherapy failed to halt the progression of the disease, we explored the possibility of a stem cell transplant at the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Together, we listened as doctors outlined the potential for remission, clinging to the hope it offered.

As months flew by, it became evident that our business needed to be sold. Tim required financial stability to support Michelle's medical needs, and we faced other mounting pressures. While we navigated selling the business, Michelle prepared for her stem cell transplant at NIH. It was scheduled for December 17, 2010. The business sale took about a year as we jumped through various hoops to finalize the deal with a foreign aerospace and defense firm.

During this time, Tim asked for my assistance in selecting a gift for Michelle before her transplant. With the impending business sale, he had the means to give her anything she desired. He chose a magnificent three-carat diamond solitaire, symbolizing his love and dedication. Michelle proudly wore the ring, displaying it to the medical staff. At that moment, she possessed a wealth more significant than she could have imagined.

On the day of her transplant, as Tim rushed to NIH, I remained at the office, tying up loose ends. The business sale was completed that day, allowing me to join them just in time for the transplant procedure. It was a terrifying moment for Michelle, and I understood her need for my presence. The transplant went smoothly, but Michelle had to remain at NIH for months, waiting for her cells to regenerate. My flexibility was limited by my new position in the major corporation that acquired our business. Tim hired another dear friend to support Michelle during this time, but I made sure to be present during her bone marrow tests, providing comfort and reassurance.

As the days turned into weeks, it became clear that the transplant had not achieved the desired results. I stayed overnight with Michelle during one particularly challenging period. We talked late into the night, sharing our love for family and deep bond. She expressed her desire to attend my daughter's wedding, scheduled for June 2 of that year. Above all, she hoped she wouldn't pass away before the wedding, wishing to spare me from such heartache. Michelle also entrusted me with choosing her burial outfit; she believed I would ensure she looked her best.

When Michelle had to be placed on a ventilator, her family, close friends, my husband, and a pastor gathered at her side. I gazed into her eyes and professed my love, singing a heartfelt song of solace that I reserve for moments of sorrow. Though she couldn't respond verbally, her eyes spoke volumes. The following morning, two days before my daughter's wedding, Michelle passed away.

Amid the wedding celebrations, I contemplated the photographs, silently remembering my dear friend. I couldn't help but reflect on her wish not to depart before the wedding for my sake. It was an emotional time, as I had to navigate the conflicting emotions of attending a joyous occasion and mourning her loss. Yet, I made time to accompany Tim to the funeral home on the day of my daughter's wedding rehearsal, confirming the arrangements Michelle had meticulously chosen herself. Tim and their children attended the wedding, a testament to our families' unique bond.

As Tim prepared to relocate to Florida, selling their belongings and embracing a beachside life, he gifted my newly married daughter with Michelle's cherished living room furniture. It was a prized possession that still appeared brand new, a testament to Michelle's generosity even in death.

The memories of Michelle and our time together will forever hold a special place in my heart. I am grateful for the laughter, the support, and the unwavering bond we shared. Though she left this world far too soon, her spirit inspires me to cherish every moment and embrace the love and friendship surrounding me.