I remember before she died, her tone became harsh and other times silent with me. I can’t blame her because, at this point, she knew she was dying. She knew that her body was finally failing her. She battled with diabetes and went through dialysis for over 10 years. She had her leg amputated and learned how to walk again. When life kept throwing rocks at her, she caught them and laid them down softly out of her path.
I’ll never forget the day that she found out she was diabetic. We were walking through the mall, and she could not quench her thirst, so she kept getting large cups of water. Then she told me she needed to sit down because everything around her was spinning. So we set for about an hour and talked and laughed. An hour always felt like 10 minutes because we meshed so well together.
The next day her mother took her to the hospital, and she found out she was diabetic and long after her kidneys started to fail her. She started dialysis and felt so refreshed and energetic after each treatment. She told me that she could feel her body being cleaned as she sat through her dialysis.
Can you believe that she would fall asleep during her treatments? I was always amazed and so proud of how she kept an upbeat attitude. Negativity and lack of hope wasn’t an option. I looked forward to receiving or giving her a phone call after I knew she was home from work or the hospital. We would talk for hours about the past, our day, tv shows, history, and books. She loved to read and was an exquisite writer. I have never had a conversation with anyone else like I had with her.
The last time we spoke and no not because of her passing but due to my cowardly lifestyle. But anyway we talked for 6 hours, and we were dead tired the next day. It was worth it. During that phone session, we cried, laughed, told jokes, talked about letting the negativity go, and stop trying to save someone that is already gone. That is a whole other story, and I will get into that in another post. However, our phone conversations or weekend sleepovers were always like this. My husband didn’t know if he would walk into a room and find us crying or laughing at any given moment. Geesh, I miss that!!!!!!!
We went from talking once a week while I sat and watched my son’s baseball practice to once a month. Before I knew it, a whole year went by. She sent me a text and told me that she wasn’t doing well, and her skin was turning dark in several places. She was tired and ready to let go. Her body had enough. She told me that she loved me. I have read that text message more times then you can imagine, and it gets more painful to digest each time.
The next day I wrote her a letter because I was too scared to talk to her. I didn’t want her to tell me she was losing her fight. I wanted her to win. I was selfish, and I was a coward.
“I should have been there to hold your hand to wipe your tears and to tell you to believe. But give me a chance to do that now I can’t change how distant I was, but I can be the friend that you need me to be now. My fear of losing you is intense, but my fear of not being with you right now is stronger. Brandi, I was a coward, and I’m sorry. I’m here now and desperate to pray with you and help you believe that you are worthy to be saved! “
I’m too late… Your body is free now, and you have both of your legs back. Your kidneys are healthy, your skin is smooth and all one shade. You’re in God’s hands. You’ll never be alone.
Tears are pouring down my face as I write this. Not because I’m sad, but I’m grateful. I am proud that she chose me to bless with her presence. I hope that she understands that I was a coward and too scared to say goodbye. It was the coward in me that made me look the other way and pretend that she was well. I wanted to believe that Brandi would be with me forever.
We all handle the death of a loved one differently. The pain is real and feels like it will last forever. It is so devastating to know that you will never see that person again. When they are gone, you can still hear their laughter, and when you stare off into the light, you can see their face.
Brandi, your death has forever changed me. I’m not a coward anymore.
You could have chosen any blog to read, but you chose mine, and I’m honored!