This post might  be a misstep or it might be a step in the right direction. I really don’t know.

Here’s the thing, two of my very good friends died not too long ago. Their deaths really rattled me. I’ve begun to wonder if I should expand this blog beyond how to carry on after dementia? My own experience, my focus, has been limited to dealing with my husband’s death and the fallout his years of struggle left behind.

Three of my grandparents, plus my father and his brother lived to their late eighties, two to near 100. My great grandfather Tommy was 87 when he died in 1948, a “good age,” people said. I remember when each of them passed and I remember that their deaths were not all that shocking because, although each had ailments, the common explanation was they died of old age.

I’m “old-aged” myself now. In the past year alone a number of other friends my age passed away too. 

Dealing with the loss of a friend, I’ve come to realize, is different from losing a family member. No matter how old you are, or your friend was, for some reason you don’t expect to lose a contemporary. We may be grandparents, even great-grandparents, plus we’re achey, creaky and probably hard of hearing, but we’re not ready yet!

When we lose a family member —  spouse, parent, distant aunt — we gather round. But when it’s a friend, even a close friend, we stand back to let the family congregate. Oh we send cards and flowers, but we don’t want to intrude. We expect to be saddened by a family death, but we’re surprised by how bereft we feel when a dear friend dies. That’s true for me anyway.

One of the two whose deaths shocked me was “Sherri,”a friend since fifth grade; “Joy,” a friend of 20 some years, was the other. With both there were thoughts and advice, ears to listen and gossip to share. And laughter, always laughter.

Joy became quite ill very suddenly and then she was gone before anyone could comprehend the loss. Sherri  had been dealing with a taxing disease for several years, but she carried on, looked after her affairs and just a few months ago made a long distance move to be near her daughter. Turns out, on April 1 Sherri had written and addressed my birthday card, included a photo of the two of us at our 50th class reunion, and put it on the table to take to the mailbox. Her daughter found her mother later that day. Apparently, one of the last things Sherri did was write that card. Her daughter tucked  her own note in to explain what had happened and sent it to me.

I emailed the sad news about Sherri to mutual friend Bonnie — the two of us date back to 1942 when I was three, she, two-and-a-half.  She replied quickly. “If it hadn’t been for your birthday and that she wrote a card, we might never have known she died!”  she said.

Lately I’ve been digging through my “archives” as daughter Leslie calls my labeled, chronologically-organized memory boxes. I came across a birthday card Sherri sent in 2020. She wrote “Not my usual card but the best I can do on such short notice.” I can hear her laughing, her wry sense of humor intact. We never forgot each other’s birthdays. In another file was a birthday card from Joy. She signed it “BFF.” I was thrilled to know that this vivacious woman who had so many good friends considered me a best friend too.

 Some days after the news about Sherri had been absorbed, Bonnie sent another message. “I don’t give permission to my life-long friend [me!] to die!”  And she always said I was the bossy one!

True friends never leave you wondering whether you are friends or not.