a letter to Tanya

Sitting here tonight, I feel heavy. I have just returned from saying goodbye to a friend. A friend that was taken too soon.

I feel numb.

A young woman, strong and beautiful, a mother, wife, daughter… friend.

I have happy memories. Memories of laughter, rich and real. That crazy black curly hair…both voluminous and impetuous. You laughed like me – there was nothing half-assed about it. If it was funny, you laughed at it. Throw your head back, don’t giggle… laugh. Eyes that sparkled like a million diamonds. A smile that rivalled the sun for it’s beauty and brightness. One smile could warm the coldest of hearts – yours often filled my empty, heavy soul with love and understanding. You listened when I thought no one heard me. Never judging, never looking down your nose at me.
And we laughed…

Your illness did not define you.

Life was a special gift to you. Every day a miracle. You told me: “Lindsay, the most important thing in life is to be happy. You shouldn’t worry about what anyone else thinks.” The words coming from your mouth made it seem so easy, when in reality it was so difficult. You helped me feel better, stronger; I drew from your strength.

You were positive, sure-footed and true to your beliefs.
You never let the heaviness of your situation weigh on the light and loving relationships you maintained with your friends.
One of my favourite memories is chatting about your hair.
“When it grows back, maybe it will be straight… that would be fun!”


It grew back curlier than ever. What was worse? It was grey.
And we laughed….

And the Lord heard you. He heard that laugh, saw that warm smile and knew he needed to have you nearer to Him.
And so,
Your smile is the sunshine now, your eyes the million stars, your laughter the breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees.

Goodbye my dear, sweet, loving, beautiful friend.

I will hear your laughter with every hair-curling, frizz-igniting rain.

And I will laugh with you…