Today marks exactly one year since I arrived in Denver, in search of motel accommodations during a pretty hefty evening rainstorm. And now, as I sit with the memories, I look out my window tonight and in Littleton, we've been having a mix of rain and snow the last few days. Those who've followed my progress as a new Coloradan remind me, "This is what spring in Colorado looks like."
And it's still okay with me...the rapidly changing weather, the pronounced difference in seasons, all of it.
As I reflect on where I'm at with my goals, I'm okay with that, for the most part. I'm more than a little embarrassed that I haven't yet gotten around to visiting the old high school friends who preceded me here, people I'd sworn I'd look up "right away" after getting here. If any of you read this, please forgive me and let me try to make things right. There are no more excuses that I'm still unpacking or anything like that.
You see, the older I get, the more I realize the folly of carelessness, of delaying seeing those who are close to us with delusion that "there's always plenty of time." We can't take the length of the future for granted, nor the presence of dear ones in our lives.
My Facebook/high school friends are well aware that Kevin Douglas Cook, my "big brudda," passed away exactly a month ago. His demise has hit me especially hard; besides being my only sibling, he was the family member I looked up to as a role model of independence and confidence. Kevin's birthday is coming up on May 21st; he would have turned 71. One of my few remaining family members recently sent me a huge bundle of photos she had unearthed recently. I will be culling through them, and posting a pictorial tribute to Kevin on his birthday.
I also, belatedly, became aware of the loss of another family friend. Dorothy ("Dottie") Frye passed away in February. She, another woman and my mother had been very close since their high school days, keeping up correspondence and visits, even as the years passed and the three of them ended up miles apart.
Like Kevin, Dottie had a strong maverick spirit. She never married, but there were conflicting stories about a certain young man--the "one who got away." Many said Dottie allowed her overbearing mother to interfere with this romance, while others said she was strong-willed and preferred her decades-long career in insurance as a means of independence. All I know is that Dottie, and the anecdotes about her I heard Mom relate over the years, served as a touchstone for me of female strength.
As my Mom deteriorated physically and mentally, I kept up the correspondence with Dottie. Her letters became less frequent and detailed, and finally she admitted in one of the last ones I have that her vision was failing. No problem--I'll just call her sometime, I thought. After all, I've got the phone number written in Mom's old address book.
Then, Kevin's illness took center stage a few months ago, and I kept thinking, "Gotta call Dottie." Before I knew it, Kevin died and I had the hurried trip to and from South Carolina for his memorial service. The day after I got back home, I got out the address book, dialed Dottie's number--and there was no answer. After taking a deep breath or two, I did a Google search, and it didn't take along to know...
Dottie was dead.
So, as I go about my life these days, and see or hear something funny or irritating, at first I think, "Boy, I should call Kev/write Dottie, and see what he/she thinks..." before I realize, "I can't...not anymore."
And it hits me...two people who had profound influences on my life are gone. Not just people, but pieces of who I am.
Once again, I am reminded of cherishing those in my life, new acquaintances and old friends. Especially now that I'm settled down here in Littleton and marked this year milestone, I must live for now and reach out, even with all the imperatives in my schedule.
Before it's too late.
