Life Before Elizabeth. A Note on Friendship, Love and Loss.
Elizabeth, is, was, my oldest friend. I have very few memories of life before Elizabeth. And since learning of her passing, I have racked my mind to recall our first meeting — to remember the moment we decided to be best friends. But, I can’t. I just can’t remember life before Elizabeth was my friend. We couldn’t have been more different girls. She was tall and I was really short. Elizabeth was a cheerleader; I was not. But our friendship is not some cliché. No, our 35-year, epic, long distance friendship was defined by the elements we shared in common — our love of family and adventure and our ability to pick up anytime and anywhere just where we had left — even if hours, months, days and years had passed. Traveling with me today is my 5-month-old son, and it has been a difficult realization that he is the first memory in my life, the first important “thing” that I will not be sharing and celebrating with Elizabeth.
Elizabeth gave me a voice. She was chatty and outgoing and I was practically a mute and incredibly shy. My family and I had just arrived in Connecticut from South Amercia and my English was, well, not great to say the least. Way before Sofia Vergara made being Colombian cool and before tolerance and acceptance were topics taught in the classroom, Elizabeth practiced kindness. At five-years old she displayed the compassion and empathy and care that would be the epitome of who she was all her life, especially to me. Elizabeth took care of me. She never let anyone make fun of the girl who had to stay after school to work on her English. All of my life, she would protect me and give me confidence when needed. If, for example, a boyfriend wasn’t being nice; she would say: “Lorena he’s not good enough for you”. And I would believe her because, after all, she was my oldest and dearest friend and she knew me better than anyone.
Elizabeth gave me history. She was a safe place to call home as I moved around a lot — between Connecticut, Bogota, Boston, Houston, New York, and ultimately Toronto. For the overwhelming majority of our friendship, we were in different cities and often times, different countries. Yet, life, fate always brought us back together — whether it was Boston for college, New York post college but pre adult life, or that summer when I was unexpectedly “homeless” while in NYC for an internship and her parents’ place and her room were my refuge. There were large lapses of time that would pass when we didn’t talk, but within seconds of seeing each other again we would go back in time to giggles and secrets shared between best friends. Having moved around quite a bit, having had to make new friends in new cities often, there was something incredibly special and unique in having one person that knew my history, was entwined in my present and with whom I planned to share my future. We talked about sitting on some beach as old ladies, sand in our feet, laughing and laughing…But Elizabeth will never grow old, and we won’t sit on a beach, white haired old goons, as planned.
So, in her passing, Elizabeth’s has given me a renewed sense of gratitude. Since March, I see her and feel her everywhere. In the gym of my son’s school for their kindergarten concert as I see two little girls in pig tales holding hands - I think of Elizabeth. As my son prepares for a jump rope competition, I see her at my house teaching me how to do it – frustrating as it was all those years ago. When my boys ask to stay up a little later so we can dance after dinner, I see Elizabeth in the corner of the room, her eyes sparkling as if to say: “Oh LP, it’s not that late. Just let them dance”. Mrs. Epifanio (sorry, I’m still that little girl whose parents would be so mad if I called you Trish) recently reminded me of Elizabeth’s love of dancing, although I will take credit for working on her salsa moves. And when all the neighborhood kids are over at our house, and leave me a trail of super hero masks and costumes to pick up and put back in the treasure chest, I remember the mess we would make playing dress up. Little girls, pig tails, jump ropes, dancing and dress up, all transport me back in time to moments where Elizabeth was by my side. And I’m grateful. Grateful to have experienced that kind of friendship. Grateful to have been loved by such a kind, warm, and generous human being. Grateful that Elizabeth chose me and for giving me so much — a voice, a home and for teaching me throughout life how to be a real friend. My only hope is that my sons grow up to be the kind of friend (that) you were to me.
Elizabeth and I fought only once. We were 7 years old and battled over $0.50, size 7 vintage shoes we found at the same time and both desperately wanted at a garage sale down just steps from where we are today. I can’t help but laugh because those shoes wouldn’t even fit me today. That memory, including those cream platforms with lime green stripes, is so vivid because other than that moment, I don’t think we ever disappointed one another. And I’m not about to let that happen again. I won’t let you down, Elizabeth. I will honor our friendship and your life by committing to the things you loved most — family, adventure and friendship. And I promise to live a life of gratitude for us both.
