Remembering Paula

This is for my friend . 

July will always remind me of the last time I ever saw Paula.

July of every year since 1988, our phone calls focused on our upcoming week's vacation at her timeshare. Week 37 was our week.

In 2017, we had missed each other's calls for several days when she left a voice mail with an apology. When we finally connected, she shared the worst news possible.

She'd been in the hospital for ten days being poked and tested. When they finally told her the results it was an impersonal phone call from her doctor.

She had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

1983 at the Gold Twin Towers in Dallas

Though we lived in different states, our lives seemed to run in parallel. Each of us were licensed hair stylists and owned hair salons, then sold them.

We took real estate classes and got our real estate licenses. 

We both took jobs in the corporate world.

We had each married someone with a child making us instant stepmothers to five-year old boys. Later, we shared the heartbreak of those failed relationships and the joy of coming back from darkness to better times.

In 1983, when the TV show "Dallas" was popular, she visited Texas. We took a tour of Southfork Ranch and went to the Gold Twin Towers, the location of J.R. Ewing's fictional office.

September of1988, we spent our first week together at her timeshare on North Reddington shores. We shopped together for groceries, cooked on the outdoor grills at the resort and enjoyed spectacular views of the sunset. I remember staying up all night laughing and watching old movies on a rented VCR.

Nearly every year after that, we'd spend week 37 at the beach, getting sun tans, at the pool and hot tub. One year we brought the same paperback novels to read. We'd sadly pack at the end of the week and drive to her house for our last night together.

She'd drop me off for an early morning flight at Tampa Airport. I'd call to let her know I was home safe and she would tell me she'd cried all the way home from the airport.

She felt things deeply and wasn't afraid to show her emotions.

We shared meals at Village Inn Pancake House, Houlihan's, Friday's, Mexican Restaurants and more. We loved the paella with sangria and homemade bread at Cafe Pepe. We often drove around her neighborhood where parrots from Busch Gardens roosted in trees. My old house was only a few blocks from hers so we'd do a drive-by.

During the 1990s we'd meet up in Orlando at my dad's house to share a family meal. Dad served as the father figure she'd always wanted having been raised by a single mom. We called each other sisters. 

1995 at my Dad's house

When Dad passed away, she drove for two-hours to be with me at his funeral and afterward took me home with her. She was a source of comfort and friendship.

In 2009, she was proud that she finally could fit into at pair of size 10 shorts. Not the kind with elastic waist, either. These were the button and zip shorts she'd always dreamed she would wear. She had finally conquered her life-long battle with weight control.

2008 North Reddington Shores

Still in her fifties, she'd already been through agonizing pain and a long battle to find a doctor to do hip replacement surgery. Her osteoarthritis had destroyed her hip joint making it nearly impossible to walk. Our shopping trips to favorite places like  thrift stores were less frequent with my friend whose every step radiated pain.

1993 Kongfrontation

When she experienced numbness in her hands, unexpected falls and other more disturbing side effects, she had cervical spinal surgery, fusing five vertebra in her neck. After her recovery, she looked great. I was proud of her resilience and resolve.

Our last beach trip in September 2016, grocery shopping was dramatically different than the years prior. We passed on getting several desserts for the week. Instead, we got only half a Key Lime Pie. The multiple types of breads we usually picked out were missing, too. Potato chips, ice cream, cookies, apple strudel and chocolate candy had shrunk to only a couple of choices.

I was proud of what I thought was her restraint. I usually went home a few pounds heavier after our vacation. I had no idea that something was going wrong with her digestive tract. Something very wrong.

I didn't know that my friend had Stage 4 cancer.

When I got the news, I wanted to fly to Florida immediately. But she wanted me to wait until she started chemotherapy. By then, she had stopped eating, suffering extreme gastric reactions after eating any kind of food.

She grew too weak for chemotherapy which, at best might prolong her life a few months, maybe even a couple of years. She was resilient, still hoping to beat this disease that turned her into a skeleton.

I'll never forget her words. "Don't think the irony of this disease is lost on me. All my life I've struggled to lose weight and now I'm dying of starvation."

Right to the end, she remained grateful for the small comforts and blessings of life and friends who loved her dearly. She was steadfast in her love for her two  dogs whose actions showed they were clearly aware of her situation.

She loved her mother whom she'd helped recover from a near fatal infection the previous year. Joyce never expected to outlive her daughter.

I treasure the photos of forty years I shared with my friend. Her house was always welcoming, warm and inviting. We laughed at her cockatiel, T.C. Wilson, who talked to the legions of dogs that came and went over the 20 years he lived. 

1995 with Nevada and Chloe

I recall our many coffee talks in her living room watching through the front window as her neighborhood changed with time. She was a someone who could put you instantly at ease whether watching TV or just hanging out. We could be comfortable even reading books, both of us silent for hours. There was no pressure to follow a schedule or do things. We were there for each other.

She remembered to call on birthdays, holidays and in-between, when we'd share the latest changes in our jobs and our lives.

She was a great listener.

She had an amazing recall of my family members, remembering names of aunts and cousins from stories told over the years.

When our roles expanded to caring for our aging mothers and their live-in partners, we often shared the joys and difficulties of being caregivers and about the day we might lose our mothers. We never imagined that one of us would go first.

2016 at the beach

She passed away on July 21st, 2017, just two quick months after her diagnosis.

I still reach for the phone to call her, even after these years. I still think of us sharing a cup of coffee in her living room with the dogs, cats and T.C. Wilson.

She loved the Lord and had a strong faith. I hope she's had a chance to meet Him and reunite with her pets that have crossed over: Chivas, Aramis, Nevada, Spunky, Chloe, Zoey, Hansel, Gretel, Dakota and TC Wilson.

Paula is gone but not forgotten. She lives on in my dreams and memories.