Alexis
I met Alexis at work when I was pregnant with my first son. We shared an instant connection. We were both English majors in college. She was extremely well read and intellectual, but never flaunted her knowledge or made anyone feel uncomfortable. We often discussed writing a series of books together—a passion we both shared and never had time for. Genuine and real, Alexis was easy to like.
Coming off of a disappointing divorce, she was in the process of rebuilding her life and doing her darndest to make ends meet and be happy. She took on an extra job at a local landscaping nursery; she loved the outdoors. We’d speak about flowers. Once she came across blue/purple alyssum seeds and gave me a packet because she knew I liked them.
After I moved to California, we lost touch until mid-2007 when a mutual friend of ours told me that Alexis had been battling a deadly disease. I reached out to her and she replied—optimistic as ever. After spending months in the hospital, her last update was filled with a positive outlook: she felt better and was hoping the doctors would release her soon so she could go home.
That day never came.
Alexis passed away in November 2007.
Easy friendship, honest, unpretentious, organic, healthy (she exercised every day and ate impeccably well), kind, caring, supportive, sweet, smart
Alexis was a good soul and a blessing to have known for such a short time. Alyssum fills my gardens today. Every time I pass by them, I’m reminded of our sweet but brief friendship.
Andrea
Junior year of college was filled with many changes for me—the biggest and most challenging of which was my first year as a resident assistant. Luckily, my honors students were as wonderful and fun as they were incredibly smart.
Andrea was the outgoing life of every party. She was friendly with everyone and fiercely loyal to her close friends. Boy crazy and fun loving, she was also immensely deep, kind, and brilliant—intellectually and personally.
Post college, we kept in touch via e-mail over the years. I remember her feeling sick frequently and eventually her health interfered with her work. After testing, she was diagnosed with leukemia. She never complained to me. Her updates were always filled with hope, trying new tests and treatments when others failed.
In the summer of 2007, I headed back to Pennsylvania to celebrate my sister’s bridal shower and wedding. Both visits were packed solidly with non-stop responsibilities and events. Both times Andrea asked to get together with me. Both times, I regretfully had to decline.
If only…If only I had known then, what I know now. I had no idea how seriously her condition had deteriorated. On November 29, 2007, Andrea lost her battle with the disease.
Passionate, fun, inspiring, hopeful, positive, motivating, vibrant, a true star among a midnight blue blanket of normalcy
Andrea remains in my memory as the optimistic, whirlwind force of nature she was when I first met her. Her hopeful outlook on life is one that continues to inspire me today.
Keresztpapa (My Godfather)
I miss him. Miss him terribly. This November 5th marked the 20th anniversary of his death and it still hurts as much as it did then.
My dad’s parents died when he was a teenager. My godparents (my dad’s brother and sister-in-law), who were much older than him, brought him to the United States from Hungary and helped him get started here. My godfather fulfilled the role of grandfather for me. There was never a doubt in my mind that he loved me. He was firm but kind and always up to something—he was playful and loved to tease me and my siblings. Then there were the presents—the rocking horse on springs which reminded me of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, the enormous stuffed bunny for my 3rd Easter, and, who can forget, the live, white rabbit he
surprised me (and my parents) with on another Easter.I watched him play cards and drink with my dad and his closest friends. He was always telling stories and laughing—though I’d seen him get into rather serious conversations and debates with my dad, who was more like an overly-opinionated son to him than little brother.
Twenty years ago, my cousin called to tell us that he passed away unexpectedly overnight due to complications from leukemia. The shock and the pain of this ripped my entire family to shreds. Somehow we managed to get through that week, but the emptiness brought on by his absence was—and still is—physically palpable.
Despite the two decades separating us from the day he crossed over, I can still hear his voice call me “Kis Szivem,” Hungarian for “My Little Heart.” Whether it’s a manifestation of our missing him or a call from the other side, he’s visited me and the rest of my family in our dreams. Ironically, he’s always at the center of a party and having a blast. The dreams are never sad and just his way of letting us know he’s still with us.
Some people touch our lives for a brief moment, yet their impact is undeniable and permanent. Others play bigger roles in our being and their mark on us is like a tattoo that can never fully be erased.
The main lesson I’ve learned from all the deaths of family and friends over the years is to make the most of every minute with those around you. We never know when their time, or ours, will be up.
Alexis, Andrea, and my godfather were taken too soon. I find great comfort in knowing that we’ll see each other again in the next life. For me right now, they live on through the happy memories we shared and the pictures that speak a thousand words in the empty silence they’ve left behind.
