Sometimes people die too soon. It is a mystery why it happens - not the actual cause of death, but why it happens to them. They leave a hole in the universe, and especially in our lives, that seems never to be filled. Their loss, their absence, cannot be made right. They are, in a word, irreplaceable. You learn to live a different way, because you are missing something once vital to your existence.
Often that feeling of profound loss is triggered by the death of a family member or cherished pet. Other times it is a treasured friend, whose place in your life cannot be filled by anyone else. I lost such a friend many years ago, and find that I miss her today almost as much as the day we lost her. She is, truly, a one of a kind person, and although I didn't spend every waking moment with her, I miss her more than I would have ever imagined.
Her name was Gina Nibbelink, and the first thing I think of is her laugh. She was always laughing, always finding the humor in every situation, constantly pointing out the funny side of life. She even managed to find the humor in her very unfunny last year of life, when she gradually slipped away from us because of the cancer that had invaded her body, though never her spirit.
I think of Gina often. She was a very special person, and not only for me. She made everyone she met feel important, valued, heard. She listened. She comforted. She cajoled, and she ministered to all who crossed her path.
But for me, she was more than that. She was a cheerleader, boosting my self-confidence when it was in short supply. She led me to laugh, she boosted my spirits, she gave me courage in troubling times. She encouraged and uplifted and allowed me to uplift back, which is a greater gift than most people realize.
Gina was unique in a lot of ways. She had the longest hair of anyone I have ever known. It fell below her knees, and she kept it in a large braid tumbling down her back. As the chemo took hold, she cut her hair very short before it fell out, and she embraced her new look even as she grieved for everything she was losing. While the rest of us reacted with shock and dismay, she managed to have fun with the new style for the few weeks until it, too, fell out. And then she had fun being bald. As life evolved, she changed with it. She didn't look back, she was always one step ahead of us.
She had goals, and she achieved them. She continued to show caring and compassion for others, even as she faced her own life threatening battles. She was a warrior. To prove it, she wore a Viking helmet to her son's high school graduation. I hope he remembers how she fought to be there for that day, and how important it was to her to live life on her terms, even at the end of her life.
All of this made her an amazing friend. She was caring. She was compassionate. She was funny, and fun, and genuine, and real. She listened, she gave advice often and effectively, but most of all, she just loved people. All people. Every single one.
I don't think I ever heard her utter a negative word about another person, even when she had to have been tempted. She was occasionally wounded, but always looked for the reason behind the hurt and gave of herself, even where most would not have.
Gina looked inside of your heart and saw the vulnerable you. She wasn't afraid to love the imperfections of your innermost soul. Gina lived a human life, and she gave grace as it had been given to her. She made mistakes. She had strong opinions. Her family wasn't perfect, and she wasn't afraid to let people in on that. She stood firm in her faith, and unwavering in her convictions. She was sometimes bossy, and she enjoyed being right. But she was so lovable, so warm and genuine, it was easy to overlook the minor imperfections for the greater qualities. There are worse ways to be remembered.
One of the last times I spent with her, very near to the end of her life, she outlined for me the funeral she had so carefully planned. She had every detail organized, the songs, the Bible readings, the table settings, who would do what. I didn't want to hear it, I didn't want to face the reality that was too quickly looming. But Gina embraced that one last opportunity to be in control, and informed me that planning her funeral was not just calming, but fun. What could I say? I had to laugh, and she carried on.
Her husband shared her sense of humor and adventure. At her funeral, things didn't go quite as I had been told. I met him in the receiving line, and teased him that this was not quite what Gina had planned, and she would have been mad! He smiled and said, "Gina isn't here, and for once, I get to be in charge." Gina would have loved that. I am certain she was laughing in heaven.
But Gina wasn't just a friend for the good times, she was the best kind of friend when times were hard. She listened intently, she shared your pain, and she gave solid advice, whether you wanted to hear it or not. She had a remarkable gift for knowing when to be hard and when you needed the safe haven of her loving hug, and she was there for both.
Gina gave me one of the precepts by which I live to this day. In a very difficult time of my life, when everything was wrong and I was questioning my own self-worth, she changed my entire outlook with a simple phrase. We were in her kitchen, talking, and I was sharing with her my frustration and unhappiness, and she calmly looked at me and told me to stop beating myself up over something I could not change. Then she said the words that changed everything for me.
"You are doing the best you can. It is good enough."
Wow. Because she was Gina, I believed her. She had a conviction based on experience which allowed me to embrace the truth she shared with me that day. Because she allowed me to see her imperfections, because she shared both good and bad with me, I was able to take those words and see how she lived them. And I was able to live them too.
There is so much more I could say about Gina, but words are inadequate to reveal the depth of who she was to me. I doubt even Gina knew how much I loved her, although I surely did tell her on more than one occasion. I still wish, often, that I could pick up the phone and talk to her. I wish I could tell her how my life has worked out, how I feel about everything that has happened since that game changing moment, how much I miss her, and how I love her still and always. I wish she could know she is in my heart forever, because she loved me for myself and exactly as I am, just as I loved her.
A few weeks after her death, our Bible study group, of which she was a valued member, met with a lovely nun who had known Gina, and who gave us some inspiration in the face of our unfathomable loss. She prayed with us, inspired us with her loving grace and wisdom, and gave each of us the gift of a candle. She told us to light the candle and reflect on Gina's life and what she meant to us whenever we missed Gina, and it would help us in our meditation.
I have never lit the candle, other than that day. Instead, it has remained in my kitchen window wherever I have lived ever since, a firm reminder of the friend who lit up my life, and who now sits in glory in heaven. Although her earthly light is extinguished, her eternal flame continues to burn brightly, and God is certainly laughing to have her back in his arms.
Gina, you are loved, remembered, valued, cherished, and missed. But you live on in my heart and my memory, still pushing, encouraging, advising, loving and laughing. I have taken your words with me, and they have made me a better person. I have learned from your (bad) example and have attended to physical problems sooner rather than later, to my own benefit, and for those I love. I have loved more deeply, forgiven more quickly, and chosen the positive more often because you were in my life.
I miss you, dear friend. But you will remain forever in my life as my cherished friend, gone too soon, but never forgotten.
You are truly one of God's saints, and I will see you again in glory.
