When I heard that my friend Louise had passed away back in December, I decided to write a eulogy for her in case I was called upon to speak. I wasn’t, and there wasn’t a memorial, but I had a dream about her not long ago and it was as good of sign as any that it was time to post this.
—————————————————————-
I’m going to start this with my favorite conversation that I had with Louise. It was one of the few times I was a little snarky with her – and you were snarky with Louise at your own peril.
We were out to eat and she was telling about how someone was assuming and expecting her to just “let something go”.
I said to her, “Louise, do they even know you?”
She gave me the evil eye – which I totally deserved – and then she laughed. That rich throaty chuckle that she had.
Because she knew it. That was just her. She was snarky and cranky – and very very stubborn.
But she was also amazingly and refreshingly honest. Which is not always an easy thing to find. There was never an guile, or deception or hidden agendas – you always knew exactly where you stood with Louise.
Because she would tell you.
I was one of the very few lucky people that she counted as a friend. And that didn’t happen overnight. It took awhile – years, I think – before I figured her out and she figured me out. We met somewhere in the middle and became friends. I was always a little intimidated by her and didn’t cross her. Louise was fierce.
Over the years I set up a lot of electronics for her and put plastic on her windows in the winter. I took her out to eat and to run errands – or pick up her Mom at bingo on a cold and snowy night.
And in return, she checked up on me. I would get a call from her every so often just to see how I was doing. How my family was and if my car was running okay. If my house was still good and how my cat was doing. Just a little connection, just to see if I was okay.
I remember once when I was going through a difficult time and she was having a health scare. I visited her in the hospital, determined to be there for her and be supportive. She saw through me in about 3 seconds and spent most of the time I was there comforting me. Here she was, looking tired and frail on her hospital bed – facing health issues that would force her to change her lifestyle – and she gave me a hug and said it was going to be okay. And it was – I knew better than to argue.
Louise wanted the best for us – for all of us. She didn’t pull any punches but behind that bluster was… I was going to say a “sweet woman”, but I don’t know that that’s entirely accurate.
She was a “good woman” and she was my friend. And I miss her.