February 8, 2003

Dear Karen,

I've waited far too long to say this.

When I first met you, it was in a women's bible study class at our church. You stood out from the crowd in there because you were straightforward and honest with your feelings; some people labeled you as, "not being all there upstairs", but you seemed ok to me, looking pretty darn good for someone who was 40. You acted like and had the personality of a twenty-something.

Anyway, I recall the study leader saying something like, "Karen, tell us how you introduce people to Jesus."

And you said, "I just grab 'em by the throat and say, "Jesus loves you, man!!"

I knew you were kidding, but the funniest thing was that some of the elderly ladies in there didn't think you were, and that was the charm of it. It was hysterical.

Over time you'd call my house to see how my husband and I were, or wish us a Happy Birthday or a Merry Christmas, only I didn't see the calls like that.

I saw the calls as annoying and repetitive. I wasn't much of a phone conversationalist, and I remember many times I'd let the machine pick up, and mutter, "Geez, I just spoke to you the other day, I don't have anything to talk about!" To the extreme, I even saw the calls as an attempt to "pick up" on my husband. But I didn't have a thing to fear; you were just being friendly and harmless as a baby hamster. You were only trying to show compassion and caring in the way you knew how. Why didn't I see that?

You always ran up to me in church, genuinely happy to see me, and ready with a hug. You always had a compliment about something I was wearing, and you'd proudly show off something you found from the Goodwill at a bargain price. "Look! I got this sweater for THREE bucks!"

Remember when my husband was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma and had all that chemotherapy and radiation? We had to sit way up in the balcony at church because the doctor said for him not to get too close to anyone, because of his weakened immune system. You were so eager to see us after we'd been out for so long in the hospital. You came bounding up, ready to give us both hugs. But again, I saw it as an annoyance. I even remember what I said.

"Stay back. If he catches any of your germs, he'll get sicker."

Now, granted, a cancer situation makes a person act in different ways towards different things. I was under a lot of stress, and playing the part of "protective mother hen." But I could have expressed that a lot more tactfully, you know? I was pretty darn rude. And all you wanted to do was care.

Time passed and I didn't see you at church very much. I spoke to you about 3 weeks ago and THIS time, I made up my mind to treat you better than I had been. When I invited you over to dinner at my place, you were so excited, like a kid in a toy store.

Last Sunday I didn't see you at church, but when I thumbed casually through the church bulletin, I knew why

You died on me, Karen.

You died and were buried earlier that week, and I didn't even know until that day. I sat there in the pew, absolutely sick and numb. I wept a great deal through the service.

There's so much I would have gone back and done over, Karen. I would have treated you so much better; but my stupid pride was in the way. Where the hell is my pride now, Karen? What difference does it make? Some Christian I was. Now you're gone and standing in the presence of God, glorified and the way He meant for you to be. No one can ever say again that you are, "not all there upstairs" because you're a perfect being now.

I want to say I am so sorry for the way I treated you while you were here. I'm crushed that I never was able to keep the promise to have you over for dinner. No more hugs, no more tales of the Goodwill store and no more cheery phone calls. I am such a fool for taking you for granted. I prayed so much for a friend in my life, and you were standing in front of my blinded eyes the entire time. I was so stupid.

I learned a very hard lesson in all of this, Karen. I have learned to truly reach out to people and genuinely care about their welfare, because they may not be here tomorrow. That sounds like such a glib statement, but it really takes on new meaning, especially when one goes through it for real. It is a shame that it takes the death of a soul to learn that lesson, but God will do whatever works best in a person's life. Part of your very purpose on earth might have been to change that part of my heart. Well, it worked. I just wished you didn't have to die for it to happen.

Good bye, Karen. I sure could use one of those hugs of yours right now.

Erica