This is sadly, the only picture I have with her. Earlier this week, a friend of mine, Mel, passed away from advanced Hodgkin lymphoma. This came to a shock to me, but sadly, the shock from finding out that she was diagnosed with it hadn't completely worn off yet.
Mel was 39-years old. I met her my first day at unTrust, as she was my traffic manager, who gave me work, and I gave her proofs, and she kept the annoying mortgage officers, newspaper/magazine representatives off of my back. Since she and I worked so closely, it was easy to develop a friendship with her; after all, we spoke all the time, every work day. At first, it was strictly business, but as we got to know one another, we actually became real friends. Since moving down to Atlanta, I haven't made a whole lot of friends. Mel was one of them; and without hesitations, she was the best friend I ever made down here. She embraced me like a little brother she never had, and she always encouraged me to think of her like an older sister. Kinda difficult, since I had a little bit of a crush on her early on, but everything worked out fine.
We spoke all the time, about pretty much everything. She often talked me through a difficult transition in my life, and she encouraged me to come out with her often and hang out, and just be around people, even when there were times in which I didn't want to be around other people. She met an awesome guy, and then the two of them often took me to baseball games on company tickets, which wasn't difficult for them to convince me to do, and the three of us enjoyed many games, lots of good food, and more drinks than I'd drank between the ages of 21-23.
We were both sacked from unTrust, during the mass-layoffs. Out of everyone whom I nonchalantly said I'd try to keep in touch with post-unTrust, Mel was the only one whom I genuinely wished to keep my word with.
I am happy to say that I did get to see her after the sackings. We had lunch together prior to my drive up to North Carolina in late-January before I headed out to Las Vegas. We ate at none other than a Willy's - since we both loved them so much.
In March, when I was in-between contract interviews, I called Mel up, and see if she wanted to go to the Willy's near her place, or Fellini's for pizza, before I went to my next interview; she didn't pick up the phone, and I left her a voicemail. A week later, she called, or at least a phone call came from her number - it was her boyfriend. And it was at this time, that I learned that she was diagnosed with lymphoma.
I couldn't send flowers, I couldn't send a card, I couldn't even visit. Due to the nature of her treatment and physical being, outside-anything was pratically prohibited, with only a few exceptions.
And then earlier this week, I received, of all things, a text message, relaying the news of her passing. A fucking text message. Society as we know it, isn't already in the toilet, we've already been attempted to be flushed down, and failed, and we remain as a species, floating, festering, and fermenting in our own shit, sometimes. And just a day ago, I attended a service.
Generally, I'm not afraid to speak in front of a crowd, but when the pastor asked for anyone to share memories or stories, my heart raced, and my thoughts swirled, but I just couldn't muster a shred of courage to just move one foot forward and head to the podium. I wanted to share the stories of her laughter that I heard on a daily basis for almost three years. That alone was my easiest memory of Mel, because we always did/discussed things that made the mundane life of Corporate America just a little bit easier. We shared dog pictures, interesting recipes. I would tell stories from my travels, and she would tell me stories from her past when she was my age. We made fun of the goofy-looking mortgage officers, and once almost got busted when one of them saw in a badly-edited email that we said he looked like Doogie Howser; but then laughed manaically when we put the fire out. We circulated the forwarded-eSpam of the story of Atlanta's Biggest Douchebag to the rest of the office, and I went as far as to find out his website, and looked up his WHOIS information, and managed to get his phone number. And then several times throughout the day, we pranked called him, only to laugh and hang up when we heard his miserable "HELLOOO???s"
But I couldn't do it. I felt too scared, too intimidated. I was not a childhood friend, I was not family. In the broader spectrum of things, I was merely an entertaining speck in her world, and I held my words. I generally do not try to have many regrets throughout my life, but remaining silent is one of them. And as a result, I sit here now, getting all of this off of my chest, because I don't ever want to forget her.
I love you Mel, and I will never, ever forget you.
