My mother used to say that people come into our lives for a minute, a season, or a reason. For the most part, I’ve always found that statement to be accurate. There were exceptions, but for the most part, the people who entered my life did fit predominantly into one of those three categories.
And then there was Shy. My best friend, my pseudo sister, and the person who was by my side through thick, thin, and everything in between.
I say was, because Shy’s been gone for almost a decade. But her influence remains, and not a day goes by that I don’t hear her voice in my ear, guiding my steps as I meander through the years in search of some deep meaning for my life.
Shy was with me for a season. A long season, though not nearly long enough. More importantly, she was with me for a reason. Had we never met, I truly believe that I would have grown old and died as a carbon copy of my mother. I would have married my high-school sweetheart, popped out a couple of kids, and then spent the best years of my life as a stay-at-home mom, with no interests beyond the devoted care of my husband and children. At some point, I would have woken up and climbed out of a bed that my husband had not been home to sleep in. I would have seen a 40-something face in the mirror over the bathroom sink, and I would have wondered what I could have done differently. What I could have done to prevent distance from growing between us and to keep his love with me, as he had promised in our vows. I would have been one more divorcee at the SeaTac Hilton, sipping martinis at the bar while hoping that some lonely businessman would take the empty stool to my right. Continue reading