Yesterday when I heard that Elizabeth Edwards had only “weeks” to live I was reminded of a friend of mine.  Sallie and I had been friends since junior high; played in the band together since 6th grade, designed the “senior show” together for the high school marching band our senior year.  When as a kid I got my drivers license the very first place I drove alone was to  Sallie’s house a couple miles down a empty country road.  We went to college together and were roommates our senior year.  She went on to be an executive with a big accounting firm in Denver.  I became a bank manager in Michigan.  We stayed in touch and she surprised me at my wedding by flying in with her husband unannounced to attend.

Shortly after my wedding she was diagnosed with leukemia.  A rare childhood version of leukemia.  She fought it valiantly, and none of us thought it would kill her.  If anyone could beat this illness, Sallie could.  We never doubted that.   She went into remission.  Then came out.    She went to Seattle and had a bone marrow transplant and went back into remission.  Then it struck again and she went to Houston for treatment.  My husband and I went down for a week to take care of her while her husband went back to Denver to check on the dogs and their mail.

Back in remission she was sent home and was well for a few months but then it was back.  The doctors told her, like Mrs. Edwards, that more treatment would not be beneficial.  That she should get her affairs in order.  She called me that night from Denver.  “This is the call you didn’t want to hear,” she said.  I sank to the floor as she told me the news.  “They told me I have a couple of months.”  I couldn’t breath, couldn’t speak.  I told her I needed to get my head around this news, and that I’d call her the next day.

Her husband called me later that evening and told me it wasn’t likely to be a couple months, more likely a week or so.  I spent that night writing Sallie a letter, telling her how much I loved her, how much we all gained by knowing her, having her in our lives.  I went to work late the next morning so that I could go to the post office and overnight the letter to her.

Sallie died while I was standing in line.

So when I heard the news yesterday that Elizabeth Edwards had a couple of weeks, that treatment wouldn’t be productive I knew.  Sadly I knew that it wouldn’t be a couple weeks, it wouldn’t likely be a couple of days.  This morning as I drove to work I thought of her.  On my drive home I heard that she had died today.

Perhaps when the end is near terminally ill people – those safe in the knowledge they are loved –  can relax and just let go.  They’ve already done everything they need to do, said all they need to say.  I want to believe they peacefully move to the next space.

Sallie was valedictorian of my high school class, brilliant at accounting, , a talented musician, athletically inclined.  She was generally first to do anything and always did it well.  Over these many years since she died I have often thought that she was just doing her job by being the first of all of us to move on to the next adventure.  I know she’s waiting for the rest of us to join her someday.

I hope Mrs. Edwards is beginning a new adventure as well, and that those she left behind can take some comfort from knowing that she knew she was loved.  In the end that’s all that matters.

Some day I’ll tell you all about Sallie and my “Adventure in the North with the Wandering Tree Planters.”  I have lots of Sallie stories.  May the Edwards children hold their own stories close to their heart.

God speed Elizabeth.