joan garry

We were on grill duty. Our partners were in the kitchen in charge of dinner prep.  Our partners were ‘in charge’ kind of gals.  When it came to dinner, Karen and I were most decidedly followers.

It was a beautiful night after a lovely day.  Maybe we played golf, I’m sure we swam in the lake.   We chatted by the grill.  Maybe we talked about important things.  Maybe we didn’t.  It’s only the feeling I really remember.

And the grilled vegetables.

They had simply been cut too small.  Flash (her nickname) and I  fought gamely onward, making every effort to keep those slender zucchini and the eggplant lovingly prepared from slipping away through the grates.  It was hopeless.

I have never laughed so hard in my life.

Flash died last week.  She was 55.  I hadn’t seen her in years.  It wasn’t just a distance thing.  A lost touch thing.  It was way more complicated than that.

Karen and her partner split up after 12 years.  She started a new life with a new person and by all accounts she was happy and successful.  For reasons that are painfully unclear, her new life did not include us.  Or any of those she held dear in those days by the grill.

Maybe stories like these are common.  People start new lives with new people.

Within our circle of friends, I had been in touch with Flash most recently – through a professional connection.  I had a big job, a big family and had traveled a million miles since we were all together.   But we spoke on the phone and we made our way, at first uneasy and then into some familiar rhythm.  And when we talked about something that made us both laugh, I was instantly transported to a different time and place.  It was familiar and sad all at the same time.

Through a mutual friend, I learned about Karen’s diagnosis.  I sent her an email – an “I want you to know that I know and I’m thinking about you” kind of note.  She didn’t respond. Maybe after all these years, the note felt hollow.  Maybe it’s just hard to acknowledge that you have brain cancer.

So many things went so terribly wrong.  It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

I just hope she knew how much we all cared about her.  But I really worry that she didn’t.  I hope she still cared about all of us.  But I’m not so sure. I’m pretty sure I feel really bad about that.    I think I just feel really bad. Period.

But one thing I am sure of is that I will never grill vegetables without remembering how I felt the night I grilled teeny weeny vegetables with my old friend Flash.