losing JOY
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.”
― Oscar Wilde
A yellow smiley face posted on the door meant the pool was open for visitors. I can still remember them racing to the living room window on hot summer afternoons, to catch a glimpse, and their own smiling faces when it finally appeared. Moments later, they were bounding across the street, towels in hand, and I was right behind them, sometimes with my suit, often with freshly baked goods, and always up for a warm conversation and a cool drink.
When she discovered I would be accompanying my colleague to Toronto to accept a prestigious event industry award, she was as excited as I was; a chance to visit my hometown, some family, and to be part of something big, albeit with ‘nothing to wear’. Making our way to her closet, she shared the story; worn only once, maybe to a wedding, and mine for the taking. A beautiful purple pantsuit, ideal for such a classy affair.
It wasn’t just that she showed up; it was the way she showed up, curious, forthright, and always ready for adventure. It was the way she walked in purpose, every day. Partly her steadfast faith, walking alongside her God, and partly a never-waning belief that the world is inherently good. No matter where we met, on the street while walking her dog, in the driveway bringing in groceries, or at her dining table, enjoying her latest vegetarian recipe, she imbued love.
Hers was an adventurous spirit, up for anything; motorbike rides, her son’s wedding in Korea, boating, hiking, and learning to kayak with us, she made time for it all. And with the same level of excitement, she cheered the rest of us on as we travelled, changed careers, and met family milestones. She was excited for every one of my new ideas; her benevolent spirit meant that our collective lives mattered, and it belonged to us all.
She was kind and compassionate, extending the hand of friendship to all. A teacher at a nearby Christian school, she was dedicated to education, however it showed up – in books, from experience, or in the natural world. She delighted in the smallest wonder; her garden herbs emerging in Spring, a fresh breeze on a dog walk, sunshine and snowflakes alike.
When she was diagnosed with cancer, she told me it was yet another learning opportunity. Leaning into her faith, she researched, invited support and welcomed my questions with a smile. She lived with this new visitor for ten years, and even when accompanying her to chemo, she expressed gratitude for the medical team; thankful even as she faced her mortality, making her way through treatment with grace, explaining to me that this was simply part of her journey.
Moving day was hard, more than two decades after joining our little cul-de-sac, my friend was moving on. With her own three children hundreds of kilometres away, still living with cancer and now with failing vision, she was joining her husband for their last chapter, a house in a small town on the same street as her mom and brother. She wasn’t far from me for long, though, enter video calls, and we didn’t miss a beat; back to chatting and sharing stories, with the same interest and enthusiasm as our neighbourhood visits.
When I joined our video chat in October, she was the same, and everything had changed. Speaking from her living room hospital bed and regaling her Thanksgiving stories, she shared that the cancer had spread for the final time and she was facing the end of her earthly adventure. She was dying, and it was a beautiful day, moving the window blind so I could share in the sunshine, proving that two things can be true at the same time. Sad to be leaving those she loved, excited to meet her maker, ever grateful for yet another new experience, she remained faithful and fearless to the end. Our call ended with our usual ‘I love you’, her telling me it was time for me to come to say goodbye, and me crying for hours, knowing that I might be sadder than she.
Tired from a full life and a failing body, she welcomed me with open arms, her big, beautiful smile, and a quieter, gentler voice. Chatting about the everyday and the usual family updates, I told her how blessed I was to know her, the profound impact she had made on my life, and the many reasons why I loved her. I shared my gratitude for all our years together, and I wept silently while she slept, knowing our togetherness was ending even as her next adventure was getting underway.
These days, I find it easy to miss her and hard to be sad. Remembering all the joy that my dear friend, Joy, brought me, makes it impossible to feel anything but lucky and loved. Rest in grace, my friend.
