Remembrance - Day 12 of 40

Once again, I find myself smiling fondly

at the 2 lovelies that showed up together. 

.      .      .     .      .

Nightie was a playful soul that I met in a shared online space.  We cared a great deal for 

one another and, even as busy as she was, when she noticed I went quiet she would send 

me a little love note to check on me and see how I was doing.  She was a quiet one and 

whether we noticed it or not, her strength held us.  "Den Guardian" was the perfect role 

and name for her.  She was (and still is) our Protectress.

She lived several states away and I had the very good fortune of seeing and hugging her 

in person several years in a row.  At my first of our group's annual gatherings and feeling

a bit nervous, we were invited to stand so our leader could go around the circle and bless

each one of us.  Sure, I could've reached down for Bert and Ernie for support.  Instead I 

asked Nightie if she would help me and she was right there for me to lean on (again).

Several years later at our group's annual gathering she hosted a Babylon 5 trivia contest.  

So that I could play with at least a little knowledge, hubby and I watched all the episodes

before our convention.  Grinning because it just might've delighted her more than it did 

me that I came in second place and won the little figurine leaning against my candle.

The last time I saw her was 6 years ago at our annual September "in the fur" gathering 

which I *almost* didn't attend.  I'm so glad I did because 2-1/2 weeks later she was gone. 

A year later I believe she did come to check on me in person.  I was sitting at the little

church that I so love to attend on a dark Saturday night.  When I turned around to offer

the sign of peace, a woman who's hair and build reminded me *eerily* of Nightie was 

standing behind me.  I was working up the courage to ask her after mass if we might 

could share a hug in honor of my friend but when I turned back around?  She had slipped

out.  While I was sad, somehow it felt right to be looked in on for a few brief moments.

And just like her . . .  she saw that I was fine and so she went on about her other rounds.

.      .     .     .     .

Margie was the play therapist at The Children's Hospital in Boston and just the breath 

of fresh air I needed during a difficult time.  We met her on my first short trip up for 

evaluation when Moma was with me.  I made the second trip up for 7-1/2 weeks of 

radiation by myself and spent most of my outpatient days on the oncology floor, waiting 

for the woman who had generously opened her home to me to finish her volunteer 

work and was ready to take me home with her for the night.  

Back home the hospital I stayed in didn't have a children's ward so this was a whole 

new world to me.  Along with Margie's steady weekday company, one of the most 

memorable lessons for me was, unless we weren't feeling well, we were expected 

to get up, get dressed and stroll down to the huge, bright playroom at the end of the 

hall.  This helped me to understand how influential the way we behave can very much

have an effect on how we feel.  We were kids with cancer, not cancer that had kids.  

The playroom was filled with all sorts of toys and one wall was lined with windows 

overlooking the city.  Margie often sat in one of the small chairs at the low-to-the-

ground tables, perfectly adjusted for kids.  

I remember she was the one who taught me how to say "Massachusetts" ("chew" not 

"too") and she had a big, ready smile.  She was a welcomed companion and anchor in 

the storm that I came to rely on.  

I wish I had her address or knew how to contact her and have tried several times but

to no avail.  Perhaps it's how it's meant to be.

.      .      .     .      .

When we die . . .

Failed attempts to stay connected to one another . . . 

Sometimes . . . ?

It's all a Mystery.

Still.

They were both very much about Seeking Joy.

and I loved them dearly.

Blessed be.

💙  .  🙏🏻  .  💙

.           *          .