I likely won’t write too much about my past life here except to say that something has been weighing heavily on my mind the last few days, and I suppose that happens when someone close to you experiences loss.
Growing up I always reflect and think that my teenage years were a bit unconventional. At least compared to most of the other kids around me. I was traveling a little bit, New York was my favorite city, I modeled around my school hours (quite literally discovered in a mall by Seventeen Magazine), had tons of after school activities, but most of my time was occupied by an organization called Civil Air Patrol. Most people who know me now would never imagine me in CAP, but I was – for about six years. One of the only girls in my squadron, I actually rose the ranks to become one of the only female Squadron Commanders. I served on a search and rescue team, learned how to fly a plane, but most importantly – bonded with five of the most incredible men I have ever known. They were my second family growing up, and to this very day, I “blame” them for the reason that I am more comfortable in my “male” friendships than any other. And the reason why I find it easier to chum it up with the fellows – although my true girlfriends are pretty sacred to me.
About six years ago, we were given the unfortunate news that one of our buddies had passed. I received the news just as I was returning from Mexico. He died suddenly. Chris served in the US Air Force and was doing his daily exercise routine, which involved swimming laps, when he went into cardiac arrest. He was only 24 years old. He was amongst a small group of about 20 or so people that helped form some of the best memories I've ever had in a period of life where I achieved more than most would ever dream. There is so much about my life that people don't know, so much about my past that enriched the person I have become. I don't really talk about the past because I no longer occupy it. I've always felt it is more worthwhile to live in the present, the past becoming nothing but fragments of a wonderful dream, and every now and then a nightmare. But, Chris occupies a part of that dream I enjoy going back to.
When the news reached me about Chris, I hadn't seen him in almost 9 years. I hadn't seen most of my old buddies in at least 3. Life was grooming us to become the people we would be, taking us to various parts of the world, and I never really looked back. Fortunately, we have all kept touch, here and there, and know when one of us is experiencing a major life moment, or a terrible loss such as this.
This past Friday one of my buddies from the “circle of five” lost his mother to cancer. In a strange twist of things, he was also Chris’ best friend. The news spread quickly amongst our small network. The one thing that has continued to amaze me is the fact that geography and time has never separated me from this secondary family, now sprinkled across the globe. When I read the e-mail sent by Dave, the first image that popped into my mind was of his mother’s “McMomwhiches” made before heading out for training missions, which were always a special treat. Her smiling face, donning a platter - before the rays of sun had graced us. Those Saturday mornings on their couch or in their kitchen have always had a warm spot in my heart.
I'm not writing this to evoke any type of sympathy from anyone. I'm not writing this for any reason except the fact that this has weighed heavily in my mind since I received the news. Largely in part because it has refreshed memories of Chris, who he was, and continues to be, but also because it's another tragic example of how precious life is and also how special moments become in shaping who we are.
But, just as Chris and Mrs. R were a part of a very special period in my life, I am fortunate to have very special people in my life now and they have helped me form more great moments and more enriching memories. Life really is whom you know and whom you have known. Like an old saying goes, "those by which you surround yourself, is a unique reflection of the person you truly are."
So to Chris, peace be with you, you'll always be that smiling kid in my memories (perpetually shouting my name, Hey...). And Mrs. R, I know that you’ll be part of each ray of the sky, smiling. I don’t think I’ll ever taste a better McMomwhich.
