As much as I typically hate getting sick, this time around I am so grateful for this flu which enables me to sit at home on this cold, rainy day; snug in my robe with a cuppa… and just write. The past month has been so busy without a moment to spare for my blog or creative writing projects, but it’s all that keeping busy that enables me to be creative I guess.
Instead of feeling creative though, today my mind is consumed with brooding thoughts and I am very acutely feeling the loss of a person in my life that once meant so much to me, and probably always will. I wonder how many other people loose touch with close friends along the path of their lifetime? Friends that made significant changes in their lives and those who they couldn't imagine living without. I read somewhere once that friends are like seasons: coming and going. That breaks my heart. I wonder if I will ever see my dear friend again, or if she was indeed just like a seasonal flower that bloomed dramatically and magnificently for a season in my life, never to return again.
I often think of Helen. Mostly when my mind is completely free and I'm making myself a cup of tea; we drank a lot of tea together - it was sort of our ritual: I would come over and make cuppas, then we would sit a while on her veranda at the table amidst the haphazard display of antique collectibles. There were those ceramic Wellington boots that stood by the door; the copper watering can always left by whichever plant she had watered last; the bird feeder, full of seed; that ancient and my most favourite church pew; and of course her pride and joy: those many native Austrlian orchids in all manner of pots that she spent hours tending to. That house is the embodiment of the shabby chic home that I suddenly realize has inspired my personal decorating preferences, no doubt longing to feel the warmth, acceptance, happiness and love that I always felt at her place.
We met in 2006, when I had just moved to Rockhampton and my life was in complete disarray. Drawn together by the sadness in both our lives at the time; we became close through our persistent hope for improvement and dual encouragement. Despite time, distance and many vast changes in my life, she remains one of the two closest friends I've ever had. Although we grew apart without saying goodbye, my loss and memories of her make me aware of the kind of friend I want to be.
Before I left Rockhampton in August 2009, already a year had past since Helen and I last spoke, but I wanted her to know how much she still meant to me and give her some sort of token of my love and gratitude. The token I chose was a necklace I'd found at a local jewellery store that had a large topaz pendant - topaz was Helen's favourite stone, her birth stone and ironically almost the same shade of blue as her own eyes - but when I arrived at her house to deliver it, she had long gone. I heard that she'd moved to the country to raise baby animals and her son in more serene surroundings. Today, I'm wearing that necklace and holding the pendant it in my hand as I write this, warming it with my touch, while these fond recollections warm my heart. Every time I look at it, I remember Helen's beautiful and honest blue eyes, wonder how she's doing and miss her dreadfully.
