And while an aura of uneasiness settled over my morning routine I looked at the calendar, having missed a doctor appointment the previous day and now committing myself to better organization, and noticed the date and suddenly realized the reason for the emptiness. May 27, a prelude to Memorial Day weekend, and the day, eight years ago I lost a very good friend.
Alison Dodson was my friend and what I would call a spiritual sister. When our family moved to Columbus, we lived a stone’s throw from Alison and her family. Alison and her husband had both graduated from Amherst and it seemed ironic that we were now living so close to each other. Several years later when she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer the journey was a rocky one and I just held on for the ride.
When the chemo kicked in I buzzed her hair and swept up the clippings from the kitchen floor. I shopped with her for clothes as she continued to lose weight.
Holidays were always a celebration at the Dodson household with food, kids in the hot tub, and pool volleyball. But that year I remember painting Alison’s toenails, red, white, and blue, as she laid resting on the sofa, because how could you go to the hospital without a proper pedicure.
She left that day, me promising to meet her at the hospital after I’d gone home to shower, change clothes and regroup. I promised her kids I would pick them up. But I never made it. I didn’t keep my promise. I got word she had died while I drove down Interstate 71, the day was sunny and James Taylor was singing “Fire and Rain”. Somehow the plans they made, the chemo, radiation, and all if it, had put an end to you.
Today I remember that Memorial Day weekend in 2002, the one I spent writing an obituary, and think about all the people who might view this weekend as not just a time to remember our veterans but all of our friends who have left, whose journey included a battle of a different kind, one they fought bravely, but overpowered them in the end.
We’ll honor others this weekend, my father, whose reissued Army medals I just received, and Mike Barvinchak, who was a Navy medic in Viet Nam and survived the horrors of war yet lost his battle at home with cancer.
I pull in the parking lot at work, another day, another battle of deadlines, shifting priorities and requests. But as I put the van in park a song comes on the radio and I pause, my hand on the ignition key, as James Taylor comes on the radio:
I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days
That I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times
When I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again.
Me, too, Alison….me, too. Sorry I let you down but thanks for the song.
Following is a list of books you might enjoy:
by Elisha Daniels and Kelley Tuthill
Some of the best therapy comes from within. Help a friend by updating her look, new eye make-up, ideas and tips from someone who's been there.
Stand by her : a breast cancer guide for men by John W. Anderson
Chapters cover common concerns and questions from husbands who are on the front lines of the breast cancer battle. Topics cover "emotional fallout" and "Chemo: the shot heard round the world". Worth a look.
A West Point grad, Rhodes scholar, and Army Ranger recounts his unparalleled education in the art of war. Nice personal narrative that includes "an appeal" as well as contact information for three non-profit organizations that help military personnel and their families.
Miss O'Dell : my hard days and long nights with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and the women they loved
by Chris O'Dell
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