My Friend Diana

We are never ready to lose dear friends, but ready or not, we have to deal with it. One summer within the space of a month, I lost two close friends and the father of another dear friend. It must have seemed to my husband that I was forever opening my email and bursting into tears. Then things calmed down for a while, long enough to lull me into a false sense of security that the rest of my friends were safe, and so was I.

But I’m on the shady side of 65 heading on down that slippery slope to 70. And at this point, losing people starts to pick up. So this is a good time to give some thought to how I handle these occurrences, these holes left in my heart. I still have both my parents. At 88 and 90, they feel like they are slipping from my grasp. They will leave a huge hole in my heart as I become an orphan. I can’t even think about losing my darling husband, my adorable sisters or my precious kids.

Still, here I sit with the very raw loss of my best writing friend Diana, taken so quickly by an obscure but fast-moving cancer. She left two barely grown children, a mother, and a devoted husband, all of whom are still reeling at what happened and where they go from here. So, too, all her writing friends. Diana was bigger than life and a constant force for urging us to be better than we ever thought we could: better writers, better citizens, better protectors of nature, just better.

As Diana’s husband and kids have circled the wagons around their loss, Diana’s other friends have united to support her mother and each other as we deal with having to push ourselves to excel without Di here to do it. She leaves a large hole, yes, but more importantly, she leaves a legacy of her example of how to lead, embrace, and chronicle life. We are all the better for it and for the privilege of having held her hand as we discovered life from her perspective. Having had that teacher and treasure, we can share her lessons with those who remain in our lives. Thank you, Diana. We miss you, and we’ll take it from here.