Remembering Lynn

January 23, 2011

I lived for the first 17 years of my life in a little house at 26 Althea Road, Warwick, Rhode Island.  After I was born in Providence Lion Inn Hospital, my mother bundled me up and brought me home to that address. 

While living there I attended grammar school, jr. high, and high school.  Every memory I have prior to the age of 18, was lived coming, going, or dwelling in that house.  

On the other side of Althea Street, was another little house, owned by the Pearson family which consisted of Dave and Lena (mom and dad) and Gail and Lynn (two little girls).

Lynn and I became friends before I was 4 years old and during my life that friendship lasted, a bond that was to be like non other in my life.  We were closer than sisters.  So it was ironic, or perhaps it was destiny that it came on the day of her death she was spending time with me at my home in Virginia.

The details of her death were tragic and later put my life into a spin.  But here I only want to leave this poem which I wrote a few weeks after her death, hoping that this reflection can be understood by others as a way for me to remember my best friend Lynn.

Remembering Lynn

Today while on my morning walk,

The scent of honeysuckle vine

Was in the air and stirred my melancholy heart.

I felt your presence once again,

My dearest, dearest friend.

Although you’ve crossed the golden bridge beyond

To dwell where God’s winged angels sail upon

The alabaster moons and silver stars

Which float in Heaven’s timeless space,

The scent of honeysuckle took me back

To childhood jaunts in greening woods

Where once we strolled together

Hand in hand amid the morning light.

We one day found a frothy brook

And stooped in giddy wonder there to spy

The miracles which God had placed

Beneath the swirling waters spilling by -

O’er rocks and twigs and fallen leaves.

That’s just one of many wonders

That we two shared,

While living out our tandem lives.

 The vision’s etched in gold upon my heart

Entwined with other sacred memories there.

I see now as this honeysuckle clings to vines

Which lend it strength and shape its climb

You were to me my dearest friend,

And will be missed with every breath

Of air I breathe.

And every day that I remain

To tread upon this gray and misty earth

I shall not feel one minute slip beyond my reach

Nor walk one forward step alone,

Wherein I will not wistfully recall

The moments shared by our two sister souls.

But I shall keep them treasured in my breast-

Those hopes and dreams, the memories past

Although like visions in the night

They’ll dare fade out of touch and sight.

Jeri May,2000