Remembering Linda

-Sometimes in life, you find a special friend;

-Someone who changes your life just by being part of it.

-Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop;

-Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world.

-Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting for you to open it.

This is Forever Friendship. (Anonymous)

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She was my then-husband's cousin; one of those tough, hard-drinking, flannel shirt-wearing country gals that only rural communities can grow. She was 29 when I met her; just a year older than I was but so much wiser in the ways of life. At that time, Jay picked my friends for me and he thought she would be a "safe" choice. I still smile when I think of that.

One crisp Kentucky autumn day, she drove to our house "in the boonies" to meet me. I think she was curious at first and wondered why any woman would be so submissive. Her first comment when she saw me was, "Finally! Someone shorter 'n me! You make me feel tall, Girl!" I am 4'10", and she was a whole 2 inches taller than I. I just laughed and said, "Nice to meet you too!" We instantly became friends.

For years, the two of us were a familiar sight everywhere. Jay only allowed me to go to town if he or Linda accompanied me and when she found this out she made a point of picking me up in her dad's old car every day, just so we could check the mail together. If you knew us, you would wonder about the attraction. You couldn't find two more opposite people. I was always working; a quiet, mousy sort of person who almost never spoke. Linda never had a job, was often mean and grouchy, and bossed people around as if she owned them. But not when she was at my house. I knew her secret self.

Linda had had a rough life. She was the one sensitive person in a family of thick-skinned hillbillies. Often hurt by the things they said and did, she had questions that she couldn't ask because everyone would laugh at her. Everyone, that is, except me. She knew I was a Christian and when she found out that I would not betray her secrets, Linda started telling me more about her feelings and asking me questions about God and my beliefs. Through my life she saw prayers answered and a different type of faith that she had not seen before, and as the days went by, we discussed religion.

I included her in my life as if she were my "real" sister, playing jokes on her, sharing recipes and taking her to new places, like the time we went to Missouri to spend Thanksgiving with my brother. Before I entered her life, Linda had never been outside of Kentucky. Her eyes were as big as saucers when we passed through St. Louis. One day, she just looked at me and said, "You know, sometimes I think God sent you to this Hell hole just for me."

Neither of us said, "I love you". Actions always speak louder than words. Every time my telephone rang at 1AM, and I "talked her through" a depression-- my love for her shone through the dawn of the early morning. Whenever she would instinctively show up in her dad's old car to "kidnap" me during my Hellish divorce, I knew that no one had ever before done so much for me. We shared love in its purest form with every selfless gift we gave to each other for four incredible years.

We both bloomed while basking in the unconditional love we shared. But as we each grew in strength, we also grew apart. Finally, she met and married George, then moved to another county. I met and married Gunnar and moved to Sweden. But I never forgot her and I'd like to think that she never forgot me.

Last week, I received a phone call from one of my daughters, telling me that Linda was gone. She became violently ill one day and was rushed to the hospital. The diagnosis was a severely inflamed gall bladder and the doctors decided to operate immediately. Linda died on the operating table, just as quick as that and I never really had a chance to say "Goodbye." So I guess I'll say it now and pray that somewhere, hopefully in Heaven, she can hear.

Thank you so much for loving me, Linda. I love you too.