For Carla

Carla passed away Wednesday night. I knew that earlier in the day she had been coughing up so much blood that the doctors had finally had to close off one of her lungs and sedate her. So when I found out the next morning that she had died, it wasn't a huge shock. But death is always a little bit shocking, no matter how prepared you ought to be for it. I'm so sad for my friend. I've been missing her for a few weeks now, but the full brunt of that sorrow is starting to weigh down on me now. But I'm also a little relieved to know that she isn't suffering any more.

My sister has a friend who has worked as a midwife and as a hospice worker-- talk about opposite sides of the spectrum! She explained that there is a very spiritual element in both birth and death. And this makes perfect sense to me. Being born forces you through this scary time and then you are lovingly placed in the arms of your mother. I see death as a kind of birth that returns you to the arms of your loving Heavenly Parents. And while I think both must be rather dramatic and-- let's face it-- possibly even terrifying experiences, as soon as it's over, the tears are wiped away and you're surrounded by love and amazement for what just transpired. I hope this is what has happened for Carla.

Even in her death, I am aware of many little blessings for which I am very thankful. And which I am going to list here, mostly to help me remember them.

First and foremost, I'm thankful that I was able to visit Carla. It would have been easy for Craig to tell me it was too expensive or too difficult or that we should wait until spring break or any number of things. But he didn't do that at all. He wrapped his arms around me and asked me when I should go. And then he looked up airline tickets for me. Thank you for understanding, Craig, and for making this happen. I would have been devastated if I wouldn't have had that last chance to see Carla and her children.

I'm thankful that I got to hear Carla's voice one last time on Sunday. She had stopped answering her phone by then-- talking on the phone made her cough too much. So I would call just to leave messages telling her I loved her, but not expecting her to answer. On Sunday, as I was driving home from church I thought to call her (which is unusual, since I don't normally call anyone during that short drive). I was surprised when someone answered-- her sister Cathy had picked up. I asked what the latest news was and told her to please tell Carla that I loved her, and in the background I heard Carla say, "Tell Alanna I love her!" That little sentence brings me so much peace now.

I'm thankful that Carla was able to visit with her children one last time on Sunday, the day before she was placed in the ICU. When I learned she'd been sedated, I worried that she had missed her chance to say any last good-byes. But then I understood that this visit with her children had been that chance. Her sister posted this picture on facebook. It looks like they had a lovely visit and I'm so glad for that.


I'm thankful that I was able to know what was going on these last couple weeks. I'm thankful that Cathy was willing to post updates on facebook. (That seems like such a callous way to spread sad news, but I don't know how else she could have communicated with all the people who were worrying and praying for Carla.) I had worried that if or when this happened, I might not even find out about it for weeks. So I was thankful that Cathy kept everyone informed, and also that I saw her post announcing Carla's passing before other people had a chance to write all over her wall, sending their condolences and messages of grief (it would have been kind of shocking to see one of those posts first!). It's a little thing to worry about, but it's nice that I found everything out in the gentlest way.

Just a few hours before she died, I sent Carla one last email, thanking her for what a wonderful friend she's been. I can't imagine that she ever saw it or heard it, but I'm glad I wrote it, just the same. I'm glad that-- for once-- I didn't put off writing an email that I thought of.

When Carla was a little girl, she sat in her primary class and burst into tears because the teacher kept calling her Carla. Through her tears, she insisted, "My name's not Carla, it's Bobo!" Ever since she told me that story, that's been my favorite nickname for her. And lest you think I have the monopoly on dreadful nicknames, she always called me Alanna-Mahana (all you familiar with Johnny Lingo will get that reference. And yes, it was usually accompanied with, "Alanna-Mahana, you ugly! Come down from that tree!").

Rest in peace, Carla. Thank you, again, for being my best friend. We'll continue this friendship in the hereafter. But until then, I'll miss you forever, Bobo.