Lamb chops were the last meal we had together, almost a year ago, on the 16th. I had taken her to the doctor two weeks or so before, and we knew the end was coming. But, like in so many other things and situations, we didn’t know how fast.

That night when I helped her up the stairs to bed in that big airy room with the big bed with the white sheets and en suite bathroom with a clawfoot tub, I noticed her eyes looked funny, as if there were tiny pieces of cotton wool in each pupil. It wasn’t effecting her eyesight yet. I gave her a massage and she fell asleep. I went downstairs and called Vivien from the patio, telling her about her eyes and how I was worried we didn’t have alot of time left. Vivien said, “no one knows how much time is left.”

She left us two weeks later, which is now about a year ago. It is so strange to be able to re-read texts sent to you by your friend who is now gone. Where has she gone? Where is that twinkling laugh, those snapping fingers, that sense of grace and class and perfect hostess charm?

Just gone. Into the wind, into the air, into the trees and the stars. Just gone.

I spent this past weekend at the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts with about 100 Maine artists and it was wonderful and inspiring and the food was delicious. It made me think about time and possibility and creativity and it made me ask myself why I doubt myself so much and where my lack of confidence comes from. (Still working on that one). The weekend made me think of Melody and how she always told us all to relish the present day and not waste time.

I went to work today and felt very quiet. All I wanted to do was curl up under a blanket with the dog. So tomorrow I am taking a half day to do just that.

When I think about that time, a year ago, bearing witness to one friend who was dying and the other friends who were experiencing death, most for the first time, I remember how odd it all was and how rich and raw. I felt like an observer: a fly on the wall of so many lives. I spent my visits making sure Melody was comfortable and could sit up or eat food or drink dandelion tea. I rubbed her pretty little legs and her shoulders and her arms and back because they hurt so much. I watched those tiny pieces of cotton wool in her eyes grow larger and flatten out as her body slowly filled with ammonia; her liver function was so limited about one month before she died and it slowly, slowly, stopped. Melody didn’t die of cancer; Melody died of chemotherapy rending her beautiful body into one that could no longer get rid of the waste it needed to, no longer could it filter out the bad in favor of the good.

I hope I never forget how her hair felt in my hands during those last few weeks. I hope I never forget how her voice became oh so muffled, and how she would always take pain pills when I asked her if she wanted them, even though with others she would refuse. Melody was everyone’s best friend, and she treated us each uniquely as she recognized the differences in us and that each of us knew different things. On the morning she died, I walked outside into my garden. It was dark and cool and humid and maybe a bit rainy. The air hung in the branches of the pecans and post oaks. It was as if she was standing there, waiting for me to come outside and tell her it was ok to go.

Where did she go? Just gone. I miss you. I miss her. I wish we could talk and laugh and she could make fun of me for being so ridiculous and at the same time, so capable and so grown up. I miss her. I can feel her in my arms right now as I write.

The community I feel here, in Maine, is so loving and full of possibility. This place begs you to Just Do It because you can, in a way that is different than a place full of traffic, the rat race, expectations, and a focus on possessions and fancy brunch establishments. At the woods’ edge here, on my new property in rural Maine, I half expect to see her standing against a tree, just for a moment. I suppose she’s here, there, everywhere now, everywhere we look and seek to listen. I love the idea of community supporting each other, even when and perhaps especially when we lost one of us. When Melody died, the whole group of friends splintered along these weird lines of class, privilege, love, and the length of friendship. It was crazy sad and showed me that, probably, we never were really friends to begin with. I am friends with Melody, Vivien, Lucy, and Melody’s sister, Pru. Everyone else was just there. Now that I am enmeshed in a community again, I see how each of us can passively and lovingly support one another from near and from afar. Whatever we do with that goal matters. If people aren’t able to do that, it is good to give them space to find their own way; there is no point in fighting.

This has turned a bit rambly, but that is ok. It is dark outside and I am sitting in my new living room thinking about tomorrow, thinking about lamb chops and Port O’Connor and London and frozen rose and laughing laughing laughing.

There she is.