Finding Friends in the Darnedest Places - My Dear Friend, Donna

Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, in an attempt to get out of the endless rut I found myself in, I took on a new business of selling cosmetics.  In the process of furthering my business, I found that I had a talent for creating new faces and became immersed in a world of highlight and shading.  Someone suggested that I talk to some locals about doing theater work, and a job at Opera Memphis dropped in my lap.  This began a new adventure that was to bring some really nice and talented people into my life, one of which was Donna.

Donna was in the chorus at Opera Memphis, and even though I am somewhat guarded at times, I found it easy to talk to Donna.  She became a big part of my life for a time, and we shared a lot of really good times.  The opera can be very demanding, with the constant rehearsals, meetings, and of course, "Hell Week".  Hell Week (Donna's term) was the final week of rehearsals, late night (until 2 a.m.) production meetings, and the shows.  It was like going onto a battlefield for a week after all the preparation and strong bonds formed at that time.  We would usually load the show into the theater on Monday, with a tech rehearsal on Tuesday, and dress rehearsals on Wednesday and Thursday.  Friday was usually our day of "rest" and was the day when we would drag ourselves through our day jobs long enough to have food put in front of us before crashing into bed for the next 15 hours.  The shows were usually on Saturday, Sunday and sometimes Monday.  At the end of those shows, I gave a party at the P&H Cafe for my crew, and that always included Donna.   During Hell Week, I could always be found at the theater early, with a bread bowl salad from Perkins.  When I had enough of my salad, Donna started picking at the bread bowl, and I gladly pretended not to notice.  After the show, I would take out my famous paddle brush that Donna loved so much and brushed out her hair.  She said it was a luxury to have me brush her hair, and I loved every minute of it.

I was glad to do things for Donna and to include her in whatever my crew was doing.  It was easy to like her.  I often envied her easy way with people, and wished that I were as loved as she.  As our friendship grew, I found myself attending events that she was participating in, and doing things for her that I wouldn't have done for anyone else.  Whenever we went on vacation, Donna would stay at our house and take care of our pets.  She had such a kind heart that on one occasion, when our dog wouldn't go back outside, she let him stay in... and he never went out for the night again.  Thanks for spoiling him rotten, Donna!  :)  I would always make sure that I brought something back for her, or do something that I knew she would like.  I remember her saying something about loving Mel Gibson movies, and I had the entire Lethal Weapon series along with several other of his movies.  I put them on VHS tapes and handed them over.  The look on her face was priceless.  That look was worth any trouble that I had gone through to make sure it was a surprise.  Then, of course, she topped my gift with a CD called Voce'.  She said she was in a music store and this CD was playing.  She said "yes, Master" and bought it for me.  I was and remain so touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness.  Donna invited me to her wedding, and I gladly attended, praying that she would be blessed in her choice of a husband.

Donna and her new husband moved away shortly after marrying, and I lost track of her... somewhere in Texas, I think...?  We kept in touch for a while by email, but it was difficult to only have that tiny part of her when I felt her absence so keenly.  A few years later, Steve and I ran into Donna at Perkins, with her "new" husband.  I was so very glad to see her, but not knowing what kind of relationship she had with this husband or what her life was like, I didn't think much about it.  I wanted to keep in touch, but marriage changes people sometimes, and I didn't want to be a source of conflict, so I waited.  Then Steve and I ran into them again a few weeks later.  It was strange.  It was like we were supposed to realign our lives, but I felt like maybe it was a little too late.  I found Donna again on MySpace and then on Facebook, and followed her from afar, again not wanting to interfere in her life, but missing her so much it hurt.  I watched as she fought cancer, not once, but twice, and it tore my heart out.  Then I read how she could not take any more chemo, and I knew the time was right for my mission in life... to give comfort.

I visited Donna at her home, after she called and let me know it was okay to visit.  I wanted to help take care of her, because her husband put out a request for any kind of relief possible so he could get some rest.  I was glad to help, but I think my intentions may have been misunderstood.  I don't know, and it doesn't change anything.  After a week of visiting Donna every day after work, the message  came that her husband didn't want my help.  "Nothing personal" the note said.  Okay, I get it.  I had already completed my mission.  I wanted Donna to know that I loved her, and she loved me in return.  It was a perfect ending.  We promised to get together to play cards and listen to music, both of us knowing that it would never happen.  And honestly, over the last weeks of her life, I really wanted to visit again, but knew that my visit might cause a problem.

Sometimes when I visited Donna in the hospital, I would sit and wait quietly until she woke up, and we got a chance to visit for quite a while one afternoon when she was alone.  Donna and I talked about her prognosis... and about how she didn't want to leave her husband with the mess at home.  I told her not to worry about that; that I will help even though I know my help will be turned away.  I'd do anything to help someone in need, especially Donna.  Now I feel like the world just isn't right now that she's not in it.  I still talk to her every night before I got to bed.  And I still wish this nightmare would go away.  But it won't.  We will meet again.  And then maybe we can play that card game... and that music.  I've got something special planned.  Let's get together soon, Donna.  30 more years without you just doesn't cut it.

I love you, Donna.  Always will.  Please remember me as I will remember you, with kindness, a smile and lots of love.  And save me a seat at the grown-ups' table.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta