Last June, my friend Amy got married. Amy is a great friend and one of those people who I know I'm going to be friends with for the rest of my life. We lived together sophomore year, junior year, senior year and for a year after I moved back from Indy. We've seen each other get our hearts broken, fall in love and finally, we've seen each other get married. Which is why it wasn't totally weird when Amy called me the Monday after her wedding. I thought she was calling to see how the night when. Or to tell me that their flight to Aruba was cancelled. Or tell me that she needed something that week at work. But she sounded weird. I never expected what she was going to say.
Margaret died.
"What???" "I think Margaret died." "Why? What do you mean?"
That's how June 29, 2009 started for me. Margaret, the person I called when doing something reckless/fearless/different, died. Turns out, the most fearless person I ever knew was in a freak hiking accident. She was this amazing person. And she was just gone. I saw her fall in love, get married. Heard about her son being born.
"How did she die?" "It looks like she fell hiking." "Let me get on and see..."
I knew Margaret for a very short time before we lived together. She drove an old white ford escort. She was from NY. She liked indy music. She could run. She painted her room on Chestnut St blue. BRIGHT blue. With a zebra printed comforter. She didn't even ask before she paintedit.
So I painted my room. If Margaret did it, why couldn't I?
So I called Jenny, who called Kristin and Cathy. I called Jess. No one knew what to say. Or do.
Don't get me wrong. She didn't do everything right - she slept on the beach and got her purse stolen. And she wondered why. That was sort of a typical thing. But we all just accepted it because it was Marg.
I know I didn't call her enough. I know I wasn't her best friend. I don't feel like I was close enough to her to miss her so much. I know the fact that I cry once a month about her being gone might seem too much. But I miss her. I miss knowing she's there. To call when I want to do something that seems stupid. She was the only person in my life who didn't think I was wrong about my husband. She got the whole "when you know, you know" thing. She understood most things.
That was the thing about Margaret. She got it. All of it. And she knew it. And she loved it. And we loved her for it.
She should have turned 29 in 2 days. She deserved to do that. And I'm pissed that she can't.
I started going to church this past year. I feel like I can talk to her there. It's the only time I can hear her. Really hear her. And I think she can hear me. I talk about how, since her wake in Albany, I've stayed in touch with Cathy and Jenny and Kristin. How she reminded us that we were friends. How we all miss her so much. How she was the one who kept us together. Because she cared enough to keep us together.
How I miss her.
Happy Birthday, Margaret. We love and miss you.
I'll talk to you on Sunday.
