for melanie

I wanted to write something eloquent, something beautiful, in her honor. I tried. It started out okay, I guess, but then I realized that I was trying to paint a veneer over something very flat, and the luster was inappropriate. Her life had a shine, her death did not. She took her own. I don't know details, just that it was yesterday, and that I'll never see her again.

I don't think I'll ever understand it. I sit alone in the office now, just 2 hours after getting the news, and as I type, the phone on her desk is ringing. I wonder if they realize that she is gone. I wonder if they will leave a message.

I've often wondered if we get messages when we die-- little FYI's that we never got throughout life. I wonder if wives find out husbands cheated, or if misunderstandings come to light-- if we find out that the reason someone was the way they were because they were molested as a child, or because they were beaten every night by their boyfriend. I wonder if when we die, we get these messages that explain life, explain things we never understood about actions and characters and personalities and repercussions. I wonder if I'll find out how many open doorways I was too busy to walk through. I wonder if that understanding would even matter. I mean-- we're dead-- what good would it do? But I would want to know. I would desire transparency even in death. And I truly believe that if more of us were more transparent in life, less things like this would happen. If we trusted and confided and leaned on and supported, if we invested and nurtured-- growing and living life together-- more of us would survive. More of us would thrive.

If I could leave a message for her now, it would be this:

I prayed for you all summer. I loved talking to you. Thank you for being so interested in my life and for sharing part of yours with me. I couldn't wait to tell you today that I got Dalai Lama tickets, and to see if you got yours. I'm sorry you were in so much pain. I had no idea. I wish you wouldn't have done that. I wish you would've cried out. I wish I would have heard you. The orchid on your desk can't even stand up anymore, now that you are gone. I wish that you weren't. I will miss you. Goodbye.

I ask that you pray for her husband and for her close co-worker, Cynthia.