Lisa was one of my oldest and dearest friends. I met her in August of 1986 when we were young teachers who still believed we could change the world, that we could touch every child, that we could right every wrong. And like those who went before us, we gave it our best shot and fell short. But we did it together and that kept the beacon of hope burning, at least for a while.
I remember the moment in 1993 when I decided to leave my position at the school. I never gave a thought to the fact that I was leaving my closest friends; never had a worry about the fate of our friendships. But I should have because that was the beginning of the end of the close relationship Lisa and I enjoyed. Sometimes I think I spent the next 20 years trying to replace that relationship, but I don't think I ever really did.
Looking back, I understand now that I under-valued our friendship and took for granted that it would always be there. In a way, it was, because Lisa was one of those friends who picked up where you left off the last time you saw them, no matter how long ago it was. But here's what I missed out on -- all those years I could have enjoyed a rich, deep, and seasoned friendship.
What have I learned?
I learned that we lie to ourselves. I told myself that Lisa didn't need me because she was so close to her family. That lie allowed me to deflect responsibility for keeping up the relationship.
I learned that true friends come along infrequently in life. When one comes to you, he or she is worth the time and effort it takes to stay in touch. A true friendship is worth cultivating and maintaining.
I learned how to identify a real friend. They're the ones who tell you the truth, even when it's unpleasant. They're the ones who listen to your ideas, encourage you, and help you make them better--then they hand the credit right back to you. They're the ones who dare to disagree with you but somehow you don't mind so much. They're the ones whose eyes fill with tears when you cry. They're the ones who pray for you, laugh with you, and problem-solve with you. Lisa was that kind of friend to me.
There are so many things I wanted to ask her whenever we next met; so many things I would have told her. For instance, when we both were elementary school teachers together, we used to laughingly accuse the high school teachers of having the easier job. They got a whole hour or two of break time each day; no recess duty; very little responsibility at lunchtime; fewer papers to grade, etc. But the biggie was that they could actually go to the bathroom between classes instead of having to hold it until lunch time!
Lisa eventually moved from elementary school to high school, and I so wanted to ask her, "Is it true? Do you really have an easier job than you did when you taught fifth grade?" We would have had fun talking about that!
When we taught together, at the end of a long day, one of us often said to the other, "What's for dinner at your house tonight?" Over the years, I've wanted to ask Lisa that question again so many times. I do, however, still have a recipe for Chicken Parmigiana that she shared with me on one of those long days. That recipe card has suddenly become a treasured possession.
I wanted to commiserate with her about growing old...was she developing age spots on her hands? Did she have all kinds of aches and pains? Did she have trouble sleeping? I wanted one more chance at some good old-fashioned girl talk.
So many conversations I wish I would have started. So much friendship I missed out on. So many tearful lessons to learn.
I kept thinking that Lisa was taken too soon. I thought about that for a while before I realized she wasn't. As hard as it is, as young as she was, it wasn't too soon It was in God's perfect timing, and it was right on time. Even at her funeral, Lisa's family testified that God had a plan in taking her so soon. It's just that we can't see it right now.
She wasn't taken too soon, but I did take too long rekindling our friendship, thinking I had years--decades maybe--to make time for that. Turns out, I didn't. I'm so sorry, Lisa.
You never know how much time you don't have.
Let's stop right now and take care of our friendships.
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