On Saturday Kevin and I were driving home from Vancouver and as we rounded the corner into Davis Bay, the sunset took our breath away. On impulse I stopped the car at Pier 17, got out of the car and began snapping photos. Finally I realized I was standing exactly where my bestie and I used to have coffee in the summer. I've been avoiding this place, to be honest.
In June about 3 or 4 years ago (how did I lose track?) we took off from work to share a lamb burger at a local pub, and then and there pledged to have coffee together every Friday. For the longest time after, we'd meet after school on Fridays-no matter the time of year or how tired we were, to share tea and chat. Sometimes, we'd chat long after the sun had set and get home to our husbands wondering what on Earth we had been doing.
Last summer we sat here and talked about our husbands, and how she hadn't been feeling well. A little tummy trouble, maybe. Nothing serious. She knew it could be serious, and had tried to tell me, but I didn't want to listen.
She was right.
Now, she's in a fight for her life-a fight just to survive a little longer, to be a little more pain free, to enjoy the time she has left. The days where we sat and enjoyed this spot while we watched a grey whale or the sun set feels like a lifetime ago.
She summed it up best about a month ago, on the last walk we took before she moved closer to the hospital for treatment.
"I don't think you need to have too many friends in your life who are kindred spirits. One, maybe two." She grabbed me in a hug, "I'm so glad you were mine."
Oh, Anne. I'm so glad you're mine too.