In the golden days of summer, I met her. “I’m in with the young ones! They think I’m young,” she cried out as she introduced herself. Only minutes into our meeting at the Callanish retreat, she lifted her t-shirt to show me her two round, perfectly matched nipple-less boobs. She’d been sunbathing topless, she told me, sunbathing until they were the perfect shade of golden. I knew right away, she’d be the type with the flow-y skirts, clothing printed in brilliant colours, and charms hanging from around her neck. She was the only one who, though closer to my mother in age than to me, climbed into the hot tub with Ashley and I to stargaze and imagine, to compare cancer notes and tell stories of oncologists and side effects.
Char wiggled her way right into my heart. Maybe it was the steaming coffee she brewed every morning, just as I was waking up. Maybe it was the sliced fruit she left for Ashley and I as we rushed in the morning. Maybe it was the late nights she stayed with me in the art studio. Maybe it was the advice to always bring my inside voice with me on life adventures. Maybe it was her steady belief in the goodness of the world. Maybe it was her ability to disrupt the age barrier. Maybe it was the peace charm she wore around her neck, the charm she showed me as she told me the story of walking on the beach, hoping for peace, when a plastic peace trinket appeared among the rocks at her feet. Maybe it was the way she mothered me, and everyone else, too. Whatever it was, she climbed into my heart and set up camp. In her, I could see who I wanted to be when I was all grown up (even though we all not know that’s never going to happen!).
It was a hot afternoon and I was feeling exhausted and sad for all cancer has taken, for all the losses, for all the forever changes. She came and sat on the corner of my bed, where I was curled up amid the pillows. She rubbed my back and wiped my tears and told me it was OK I didn’t have babies yet, and she told me she knew I’d be a mama someday. She cuddled into the pillows with me and the sunlight streamed into the bedroom and kept us warm. We talked until the words ran out, and after some silence, we laughed and laughed. We laughed at how she heard me singing in the creek, when I thought no one was listening. We laughed at our mismatched boobs, hers nipple-less and mine full of corners as though someone shoved a book under there. We just laughed. And she mothered.
Char cared. She showed me how to care, how to care in the details and in the fleeting moments. Her presence was warm, full of love and laughter, replete with sass and spice. Goodnight, sweethearts, she called as we climbed into bed, our fingers still stained from playing in the art studio. Good morning, coffee is ready, she called up the stairs, always awake first and taking in the morning light from the porch. She evened out the little duo I formed with Ashley, the third point to our little triangle, the other person to whom I felt most connected. Mama Bear, we called her. Mama Bear, she was. We emailed. Here and there. This and that. Always lots of explanation points, smileys, words laced with sarcasm but somehow also full of warmth.
Once she convinced me to go with her to a Callanish movement and meditation event. I went because she was going, and because my recent surgery banned me from Bikram. It was January, and she was exuberant. She asked me a hundred questions, and listened so carefully to the stories I told her. I shared the most precious of news- news that is not yet public- and she was ecstatic. For me. So sick, so ill, and still her grin reached from ear to ear, and she hugged me hard and close. Mama Bear, indeed.
I found out today. The Art Therapist Who Presides Over Acrylics and Feathers and Sand told me. Better than finding out when the offensive email shows up in my gmail, bearing the saddest of news. Char is gone. She died at home. Breast cancer took her. She was not old enough to die, and we the people of the world, we were not old enough to lose her. The gap is wide, the ache in our hearts, the enormous hole she left in the world that will never be quite the same again. And this afternoon I rode my bike, and the tears fell into the wind, and I missed her, and I wished I’d visited her, and wished she told me, in those emails even just weeks ago, how hard it was getting. I rode and I rode, down to the ocean and along the water, and it was raining.
Char, I promise to take my inside voice, I promise to sing in the creeks, I promise to let the world deliver tiny plastic peace charms just when I need them. I am so sorry Char, I am sorry you left to soon, sorry it hurt, sorry your children will forever miss their mom, sorry we can’t have tea again, sorry it happened, sorry the world continues to spin without you. That spin without you is unimaginable, unthinkable, unbelievable. I’m so sorry. I made you this little video, today when I got home from biking. I changed into sweats and dumped out the coffee beans, and it smelled like you in the mornings, the early mornings, making coffee for us even though you didn’t have to, caring so deeply even when you, too, came to the retreat to be cared for. Your care was so healing. Caring about you too, was so healing. Our friendship was so healing, for me, and I’m so sorry you are gone now, gone forever. This is for you, with so much love, from me. Goodbye, Mama Bear, fare well, friend. I will think of you often. Love you.