It takes me a minute to recognize her.
Every trace of her bright blonde hair has been robbed by the chemo. Still, the smile is the same smile. And those round, sky blue eyes.
“Hi, I’m Diane”, she says, just in case one of us might not remember. She joins this little gaggle of old high school girlfriends and informs us that she is in the middle of a fierce battle with breast cancer. She might as well be discussing the latest weather report for Seattle.
What do you say next? She is clearly not looking for pity. She just wants to connect, to share memories, to know that she is included in them. So, after the initial shock, we respond with words of comfort and the party goes on.
“Remember the band trips to Victoria? That little English restaurant where we ordered Yorkshire Pudding and treacle? Driving Mr. Alpaugh crazy in U.S History class? Soaking up Mrs. Emery’s love for Emily Dickenson and Stephen Crane? The impossible crushes?”
It’s late and we are all getting sleepy. No more slumber parties for us. “Come for dinner tomorrow night?” I ask on a whim. I don’t want to let her go.
“Sure! Greg and I would love that!”
The next evening is summer perfect. I put together the healthiest meal I can imagine. Golden light slants in through the window as we ease into our renewed friendship and acquaint our husbands. But the light is fading and I know that it’s time to say goodbye. This is it.
Diane slips her arm around my waist as we walk them to the car. “When I started on this journey, a friend told me to look for the gifts. This evening was one of them.”