Remembering Linda

It's been a while, but it still hurts.  I still need her sometimes.  I met her pretty late in life, when we were both well past 40.  I had plenty of wonderful friends and I really wasn't looking for any more.  But we had this thing.  We were both screwed up in sort of the same way.  It's an ADD thing, to be overwhelmed with ideas and not ever have enough time, to feel guilty for not getting enough done, all those unfinished projects, never really successful at anything big, feeling like we are supposed to be tho.  I didn't even know I was ADD when I met her, and maybe she hadn't labeled herself yet either.  I can't remember.  I just know we sort of clicked and vowed to have lunch more often, but that became one of the things we didn't get done and felt bad about.  Somehow, though, we decided to set aside an afternoon a week to do pottery and so we got together and did that.  Once.  I still have the stuff unfired on a shelf.  Seriously.  I do.  But she called with this fabulous idea.  There was this little place right on a main through street for rent.   We could start an art gallery.  The one our town had for many years had recently closed when the lovely folks that ran it retired and surely they would help us figure it out.  She had this co-op idea in mind, where we'd find other artists and each of us would work a day and pay a fifth of the expenses and bring in other artists and wouldn't it be cool?  By this time in our friendship, I knew that the only way to get her off a 'brilliant' idea was to go down the path a little with her and convince her of what was wrong with the idea, otherwise she wouldn't let go of it.  So I went with her to look.  It didn't seem THAT crazy.  I made some calls, sent some emails.  I found 3 other artists, all doing very different things.  One needed to work weekends, the other said she'd be in as long as she didn't have to work weekends.  So it fell into place and that lead to other things that fell into place and pretty soon, she was leaving to start new things, things that are still going on long after she really left us for good. And even when she was sick, we never really believed she could really leave us. But she did. I miss her.  I am proud of the things she did and who she was.  I am proud she called me a friend.  I'm still screwed up in a million ways, but I beat myself up less for them.  I don't get as angry about things and I don't give up as often.  Well, I do, but I get my own self back at them later.  I pause more and take in the little things and I forgive people more for not being perfect and I forgive myself more for wanting them to be.  I miss her.  I am better for having shared some part of this journey of life with her.