Mad At No One But Myself

Many years ago I worked with a wonderful lady named Andrea. Now, before we get too far into this, I must tell you she pronounces her name AHndrea, not ANDrea. And oh how fitting for this lady. One-of-a-kind, genuine, talented, gorgeous, generous to a fault, funny, straightforward, fun-loving, and a plethora of other adjectives. Long curly hair piled high atop her head, always looking glamorous, even when she wasn’t.

She was great fun to work with, and great at what she did. She was the aesthetician at the salon where we worked, and the unofficial decorator. She gave an amazing facial, and knew skincare better than most doctors. In her previous career she worked at the Lauder makeup counter at the big department store in town, and everybody knew her from there. But I got to know her in her private career, long after her department store days were passed. She was a thrill to know.

We worked together for almost ten years. We laughed, cried, fussed, shared deep secrets, decorated, rearranged furniture (at the salon and at my house), I did her hair, she gave me facials, and all sorts of other shenanigans betwixt us.

The one and only time I ever had my bikini line waxed, she did it for, or should I say “to”, me. She’d rip the strip, I’d holler obscenities, she’d holler back, “shut up and take it like a real woman!” Or, the time she gave me permanent eyeliner. She’d run that needle over my eyelid, I’d holler obscenities, and she’d holler back, “shut up and suck it up and take it like a real woman!” Only from her would I take such lovingly harsh correction, because truly we were both laughing the entire time. That’s what friends do for, or should I say “to”,  each other.

When I left the salon where we worked together, we stayed in touch. I still did her hair, she still took care of my skin, and we maintained our close bond for quite some time. But, as seems to all-to-often happen, we drifted from one another’s lives in that slow drift like a boat with no anchor on a large pond with a gentle breeze. It just kind of happened.

The years I spent in Orlando further set us apart from our somewhat often chats, to where it became months between our visits. Always a good, sweet catch up, we’d talk fast and furious to get it all in.

But, it’s been a good long while. Close to five years probably, if I’m being honest about it. Wish I could just lie about it. But it really has been that long. Which grieves me all the more, because about two or three months ago I started thinking about her – a lot. You know, the thoughts of “I should call Andrea.” “I wonder what she’s up to.” “I’m sure her number hasn’t changed, I should call her.” “I need to call Andrea, but it’s ten o’clock at night. Can’t call now.” And all the other thoughts I’m sure we’ve all had at one time or another. But we get busy, or the timing doesn’t seem right, or whatever other excuse we come up with.

And you can see what’s coming, can’t you?

Two nights ago I got a text from a friend who told me another friend had heard that Andrea had passed away. Then my friend sent me the obituary.

I was devastated.

And mad at no one but myself.

It is now too late.

I should have called her two months ago when I thought of her. When that still, small voice brought her to mind. When it just wouldn’t let go of me, but I let go of it. Pushed it off, set it aside, left it alone. And now I have nothing left but regret.

Andrea passed on July 4th. Kind of fitting for the firecracker that she was.

So, all that to say, my dear, sweet Andrea, I am sorry I didn’t call you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I know you were well cared for, but I wish I would’ve been there.

And you, you reading this scribbler’s pitiful shaking-her-head-at-herself-frustration, when you feel that prompting, don’t wait. Call the person, text the person, go see the person. Listen to your gut. There’s definitely a reason that person is on your heart. Maybe they just need you for that moment, maybe they need you for something greater. Maybe it’s “just because.” Whatever it turns out to be, you won’t regret it.