Thelma
caught my attention with a wave of her arm from where she sat on the beach just
below me. Blue jeans rolled up to her
knees, she sat digging her bare toes in the warm sand as she worked. Her curly hair had become a victim of the
coastal wind as it blew across her face.
At 36 years old, she looked as much a teenager as I did, and even with
the 18-year age difference, she had long been my best friend. Waving again, the tablet fell from her lap
as she motioned me to join her.
A
strange way to spend an afternoon for some, for us it had become almost a
tradition. Thelma and I shared a love
for writing, and Simpson Beach was such an inspirational place to work. We would each bring our tablets and find a
comfortable seat. Then sitting apart to
avoid the temptation to sit and chat instead, we would work as the waves
crashed and the seagulls sang from above us.
A large wolf-shaped rock in the water off shore would watch over the
scene--Wise Old Timmons, Thelma called him.
I
climbed down from the ledge ten feet up the base a sandstone cliff where
I
had nestled with my tablet. Work time
was obviously over, and it was time to play.
Joining her in the warm sand, our tablets were soon forgotten as we ran
along the water’s edge, splashing in the waves. Like two kids we threw pieces of driftwood into the surf and waited
for them to come back.
Then
we were off to visit the tide pools that were located at the edge of the rock
cliffs on one side of the beach. Thelma
loved to poke her fingers in the tiny sea anemones. I seldom dared touch them myself, but it was fun to watch them
suck long, sticky tentacles into a soft wad of color attached to a rock. Sometimes we also found starfish and tiny
crabs that we had to hold a moment before letting them go back to their pool. Every visit to Simpson Beach was full of new
discoveries to explore and it was always an afternoon well spent.
Thinking
back now I remember so many nights we sat up until dawn just talking. It was no wonder we were best friends. We had so much in common--a love of Chinese
food and soft music, the Oregon coast and, of course, writing. Sometimes during our long talks Thelma would
get philosophical and give me advice about life. She taught me that every now and then, grownups do say things
worth listening to.
“It’s
better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it,” she used to
say all the time. I don’t know if she
made the little phrases up or if she read them somewhere, but even today I find
myself hearing them echo through my head at just the right moments.
I
remember when I became old enough to date, she decided to impart words of
wisdom. She told me there are two
things to always remember when searching for that perfect guy, your soul
mate. The first one was if you wanted
to truly judge a man’s character and know that he is a gentleman, watch him
around children and dogs. If he takes
the time to show them affection, he will do the same for you. It seemed silly back then, but it also made
sense.
“Secondly,”
she said, “You will never find a perfect man.
The trick is to find one with faults you can deal with.” I wondered at the time if she ever thought
about looking for her soul mate. She
had been married once for about ten years, but her husband had died in a
logging accident. She had been single
since then.
At
twenty-five years old I finally did marry and our time together lessened, but
we always stayed close. Soon after I
got married, I had a daughter and Thelma was with me in the delivery room. She breathed through the contractions with
me for fifteen hours and held my hand while they stitched me up when it was
through.
I
named my daughter Tessa Rae, giving her Thelma’s middle name. I’ll never forget that beaming face as she
repeated it over and over again.
Things
got harder after that. My husband
accepted a job three hours away and we had to move. Thelma’s health hadn’t been good and I worried about her daily,
but we stayed in touch faithfully. I
tried to talk her into moving too, but then one day she called me at work from
the hospital.
It
was cancer, terminal cancer because they hadn’t caught it in time. The phone almost hit the bakery floor as I
fumbled, in shock, to keep it to my ear with those words thundering through my
head.
“I’m
on my way,” I heard myself whisper.
“Can
you bring some of those lemon-filled donuts?” she answered. I could almost smile as I pictured her
dancing blue eyes pleading.
I
arrived in the evening when the hospital was quiet, but Thelma’s room was full
of beeps, buzzers and strange faces. I
knew I must be pale, but I put on a brave face and marched around the corner
into her room. Thelma hadn’t
changed. She sat high in her bed,
busily teasing the nurses. Before I
knew it, she was lecturing me about keeping positive.
The
cancer quickly traveled from her lymph nodes, then into her bones and finally
into her brain. I held her hand daily,
watching her fade slowly. My Thelma,
once so intelligent could now barely speak.
During
our last visit, I retold old stories about Simpson Beach to those eyes so
hollow and blue. She couldn’t say much,
but I know I saw a smile as I sat Tessa Rae on her belly in the hospital
bed. Thelma weakly lifted both hands so
she could play patty cake one last time.
Now
I embrace those memories and pass them along to Tessa and her brothers, along
with the words of wisdom. I also try to
write regularly, eat Chinese food and go to the Oregon coast as often as I can
to pass on the legacy of my friend. You
see, Thelma was someone extra special.
Not only was she my best friend, she was also my mom.
