Death and Hot Fudge

Today I learned that a friend of mine lost her son. There was no warning or previous illness; his death was as unexpected and shocking as most deaths.

I was reminded of a moment long ago and a dear friend who, within a short time after learning of my daughter’s death, was at my house within a short time. It was still early that day when she came to my side as cancer was eating her body. Her own needs aside, she came without breakfast with a special love and kindness as we retreated to my kitchen to make juice together.

Some days later, she called to asked me out for a hot fudge sundae. After all, ice cream and chocolate, especially hot fudge, cures just about anything, at least momentarily. But I was proud, and I was distant. I told her I would probably throw it up, and that all I wanted to do was to scream and cry. With laughter, she again offered and to join me as a participant in all three of my concerns. But I would not go. I could not.

Later that same year, I lost my friend to cancer.

So in remanence, I long for a do-over moment with her, that one rare moment to share laughter and tears with someone who loved me. After all, what’s a little barfed hot fudge between the best of friends?