My Michelle

Monday morning brought the most awful news.  My dear friend Michelle's husband told me of her death last week.  Michelle had spent more than a year battling colon cancer.  The last time I talked to her, which was a few months ago, she was on the mend.

She spoke of wanting help writing about her journey, and all the miraculous things she felt and saw happening during her battle.  She spoke of the gratitude she felt for the team of professionals who were helping her through each step -- all her doctors, the surgeons, the people at the cancer center who administered her chemo and radiation.  Her eyes were full of wonder when she told me about the convent full of nuns in Texas, I think, who she had never met, who were praying for her daily.  She talked about what to do next, and how she wanted to somehow give back.  She planned to do the traveling she'd been neglecting all these years, especially returning to England, Germany, and Austria where she had family, and where she had lived when she was young.

My phone calls and emails to Michelle have gone unanswered all summer long.  I told myself it was nothing to worry about, and dreamed of her off spending time with her family in Wyoming, or indeed traveling in Europe, making up for lost time.  I wrote again last week to invite her for coffee on a weekday morning, since our boys were back at school.  I now know that was the day of her funeral.

Michelle was one of my oldest friends in Colorado.  She and I met at the pool the summer we both moved here, nine years ago.  I struck up a conversation with her when I saw her reading an issue of Victoria magazine -- one of my absolute favorites at the time, and not one you see often around here!  Since we have sons close in age we found we had a lot to talk about.  She was an artist, talented and listed, and loved antiques, and enjoyed thrift stores, and loved to try new restaurants.  She was a very good friend.  It was Michelle who I entrusted my son to stay with when my mother had a heart attack and I had to be out of state, with my husband working nights.  She was the one I could always count on to encourage my art, and who would roll up her sleeves and try new things, like mosaic, with me.

Watercolor by Michelle of her son and her neice

Michelle was a faithful reader of this blog.  I wrote about her sometimes, too,like about her wrangler toad, and my late kitty's love of her.  But I never wrote about her battle with cancer -- barely even talked about it to anyone -- because she was intensely private about it.  I only found out about her diagnosis when she was about to begin chemo, after the surgery, and she shared the news reluctantly.  Her husband just told me that while she was bravely speaking of the future, she had undergone 4 surgeries this year alone.  She found out she was terminal about 3 weeks before she passed away, and didn't want to tell anyone.

It doesn't make sense to me that Michelle could be gone.  Not Michelle.  I would sometimes joke to other friends that Michelle was the subject of that old Carpenter's song, Close to You.   "Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near?  Just like me, they long to be close to you...  Picture Snow White singing with the birds in the forest.  It almost isn't an exaggeration

Michelle's puppy

'Lest you think I'm just saying these things about her because she has died, let me make it clear: I am not romanticizing her.  I would not describe any of my other friends -- as much as I care for them -- this way.  Michelle was one of a kind.  I have never in my life met or known anyone who loved beauty as much as she; who celebrated it, spread it, and created it.

Photo by Michelle

Michelle wanted everyone to be happy, and if she found out someone wasn't she went out of her way to help.  She was so beautiful, and so gentle.  She could wake up one morning, get out her paints, and create a mural on her wall inspired by the image on a card she'd received.  She could throw out a handful of wildflower seeds and a few weeks later an amazing garden would grow.  I think they sprouted out of the ground to in search of her.

Michelle was 42 years old. I cannot believe she is gone.  She has gone ahead of her cherished son and her best friend, the husband she's spent more than 20 years with, and both her parents, and all her brothers.  I see her everywhere I look: in the pictures she painted me, and the flowering plants she gave me, and in everything she loved about Colorado.  I am devastated that I never had the chance to say goodbye to her, or tell her in no uncertain terms how much she inspired me, and how much I loved her.  Oh, my friends, I am just sick!