When I think and/or write, I let my thoughts slosh around in my head, and invariably wait for whatever missives fall over the rim to anchor what I put in writing. This process serves me well- what makes it out of the jumble of my consciousness is usually easy to form into coherent, cohesive thought.
As I sit here, attempting this very well-worn process, I am coming up empty. Perhaps my brain knows better than my heart that there are no words I can conjure that will do justice to how I feel. Because what I am feeling and thinking is impossible and incredulous and angry and desperate; how do I reconcile an egregious loss with perfunctory rhetoric?
I don't.
That's it-- I don't.
Today, I found out that a friend of mine passed away at an impossibly young age, when she was both a loyal wife and dedicated mother, with no explanation or justification for her early exit from this life we all share. She is now this person I was friends with-- past tense. She was something; she no longer is anything. She is past tense.
So, here I am, attempting to assign some notion of eloquence or nostalgia to what I know and remember of her. And it isn't enough. Remembering it at all feels trite and prosaic.
So, without further attempts at profundity, I will simply say this--
Betsy Fouse Townsend was a fucking badass. She endured more heartache, distress, injustice, and consequence in 32 years of life than the entire character list of a Stephen King novel-- and she did it better. She did it with more grace, humility, and strength than any other person I have ever known.
At her worst moments, her lowest lows, and her most harrowing moments of despair, she always insisted on dwelling in the positive. She adamantly refused to be the person with a cross to bear or an ax to grind; she regarded her struggles as character building and not a thing more.
So this person, who I witnessed deal with more strife in her 30 years of life than anyone else I have ever known, is now gone from this earth. And I have no idea why- either in literal or spiritual senses. But she is gone, and she leaves in her wake a legacy rife with the best 'stuff' people in this world have to offer. She welcomed me into the camp nursing station with the confidence and moxie of a brain surgeon-- and just as easily shared with me all of the things she did not know to assuage my own palpable lack of confidence.
She showed up to my college campus one weekend to surprise me after a bad week;
She sent me a box of affirmations and inside jokes after a round of brutal finals;
She called me for no other reason than to tell me that she appreciated my kindness-- with no catalyst or prompting; she did it 'just because'.
She called me two weeks ago, and I couldn't make it to the phone. I put a call back to her into my 'reminders'-- I set it for a week from now.
I missed out on her. I missed out on whatever it was she was reaching out to me for two weeks ago. I. Missed. Out.
She is gone now-- I'll never know what she wanted when she called me that afternoon. That's on me. I missed out on the final conversation I would've had with a personal giant of mine because I took for granted this. life.
I desperately pray that even just one person can learn NOT to make this same kind of mistake-- it's a permanent way to learn that life is short and too many things are impossible to reverse. Don't take life for granted.
Do everything in your power to make sure you're never the person that unintentionally 'misses out'.
If you don't, I assure you it's the lowest feeling you'll ever know...
