It's only a jacket

Doc and Gerri on the bike

Just a few more days until Christmas and all of a sudden, I've turned into a sentimental sap. Anything and everything causes me to start blubbering. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually like this. I think I've been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies.

Each year, as Christmas approaches, I want everything to be just perfect...a cross between a Martha Stewart and Better Homes and Gardens Christmas. I work really hard to make my home inviting and do my best to fill it with memories my children and grandchildren will cherish. It's a lot of work for a few hours of celebration, but who cares.

The day after Thanksgiving we put up our tree and before you know it, decorations fill every nook and cranny. I  dig out all of my Christmas CDs and load the Bose so I have continual holiday joy filling my home. After everything is lit and decorated, I begin baking. Part of my gift giving includes special holiday recipes from years past and it's always a pleasure to remember good times as I'm cooking. Smells trigger memories and hopefully, there aren't burnt ones this year.

Today was a bittersweet day as I ran across a different kind of memory tucked deep in my closet. It was a chilly day and the thin chambray shirt I was wearing wasn't keeping me warm. Heading toward my big walk in closet, I began to rummage through my winter tops in hopes of finding something more substantial. My fingers skimmed over sweatshirts and long sleeve blouses, that's when I saw it, Gerri's jacket...that faded blue denim tucked deep. My hand stopped and paused reverently on the sleeve as I remembered my sweet best friend. I don't know where they came from but suddenly, the dam burst and I was standing in a puddle of tears.

Gerri and Doc at our last lunch together

Gerri had passed away earlier this year. It was so unexpected. When I received the news, I was devastated. My best friend had died. I couldn't process it. We'd just spent the weekend together getting our hair done, going out to eat, joking and laughing and now...she was gone. I didn't realize it until that very moment, as my hand slid down the jacket front...I'd never see her again. I couldn't pick up the phone and call her. I'd have no one to share my secrets with again. We'd never giggle so hard over her bladder control issues again. It wasn't fair.

I took the jacket down from the hanger, held it carefully in my hands thinking it might disintegrate and then all memories of her would be gone. The soft denim jacket was well worn. It was Gerri's favorite. When she'd died, her husband, Doc, asked if there was anything I'd like to have and the only thing I could think of was her jacket. She'd been wearing it the last day we were together. For some reason I just knew, if I held it up to my nose, I'd still be able to smell her...remember her. Doc had lovingly agreed to give me her jacket and had driven almost 50 miles to bring it to me one afternoon after things had calmed down a bit. I'd taken his sweet gift and hung it in my closet, thinking I'd wear it one day as the weather grew cooler, but the jacket had hung there for months and I'd forgotten all about it.

Holding Gerri's jacket was difficult. She had loved this jacket so much and had worn it everywhere she went. As I looked over the front of the jacket, I saw several pins she'd placed on it. There was one for women bikers, one for diabetes awareness and one for breast cancer awareness. That little pink ribbon...she'd put that one there for me. On the back of her jacket was a patch, another ladies bikers symbol. She and Doc were big Harley riders and it was important for her to let others know.

Me in Gerri's jacket

I gently unfastened the buttons and opened the jacket. I slipped first one arm in and then the other. As I managed to get the jacket on, I felt an instant warmth...like a huge, big, Gerri hug. Oh it was so sweet! I could almost hear her whisper in my ear, "It's going to be okay, girl. It's going to be okay." The cozy denim enveloped me and I stood there crying. All the sweet memories of my best friend mingled together into a massive, overwhelming gift that was too hard to bear. Struggling, I took the jacket off and hung it back on the hanger. I couldn't bear to wear it today or perhaps ever. I knew it was only a jacket but it held too many emotions...too many memories...too much love.

As I turned out the light and softly closed the door to my closet, I knew Gerri's jacket was safe in its place amid my winter clothes and the memory of my friend was nestled snug against my heart, just where it always would remain.

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle brightly  as I stand before it. I'll miss you sweet friend but I'll always treasure your laugh, your smile, and your mischievous grin. Even though you're no longer with me physically, you'll always be in my hearts.

Just the other day, I was at the drugstore picking up a prescription. As I walked through the aisles to get to the pharmacy, I passed a row of feminine hygiene products. Suddenly, I felt a need to stop and as I glanced down there was a package of Tena bladder control pads lying on the floor. I swear I could hear Gerri's snicker starting up and then it turned into full blow gut wrenching laughter...but it wasn't hers I was hearing, it was MINE!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Inside out

Since my last post, I feel like I've been turned inside out. I've faced a gamut of emotions and no, they are not cancer related. First of all, let me give you the update on my ultrasound report - everything came back good. That was a huge praise and the oncologist said if I keep having pain, he'll do a CT scan. I was also supposed to have an MRI on my spine because of pain I've been suffering lately, but I had to cancel that test due to insurance issues. We have had changes to our insurance and have a much higher deductible this year (which we haven't yet met). If I'd had the MRI done, I would have had to pay $700 out of pocket up front and we didn't have that kind of money so I made the decision to forego the test. I'm praying that everything will be okay and that the pain isn't an indicator that the cancer has embedded in my spinal column. Those are palpable pains I've dealt with. Physical pain is much easier to handle than emotional pain.

Gerri and I

I have been struggling for the past week over the sudden death of my very best friend, Gerri. Gerri and I were very close friends and always teased each other saying we were sisters from other mothers. We went to seminary together and worked together. We were joined at the hip so to speak. She used to call me her "Ace Boon Coon," which I didn't understand until I Googled it. (It means a very best, loyal friend.) That was a good definition of our relationship. Gerri just "got" me.

I never had to pretend around Gerri. She knew everything about me and loved me anyway. That's rare to find these days in any friend, but she was unique in that way. She loved me even when I was unlovable. Gerri didn't care if my hair was fixed or if I wore makeup. Those trivial things didn't matter one bit to her. She just wanted to be with me and when we were together, we were like Mutt and Jeff...we were, as she put it "besties."

Last week, I had texted her to see what she was up to and she replied with a "hey, girlie girl." (That was another term of endearment she used with me.) We chatted a while and made plans to go get our hair done together. Gerri knew of a great stylist that she'd been going to for years. She told me she'd call Bethany and see if we could get back to back appointments. We planned to make a day of it, and we did.

Our sweet husbands drove us to Carrollton to the salon. Gerri went first because her hair was uber short and she was only getting a trim and her purple streak recolored. Gerri was bold that way. She always wanted to make a statement. She didn't care what other people thought of her, she just lived her life to the fullest. Bethany called us back and sat us in chairs that were side by side. She began to work on Gerri as we talked and made plans for the rest of our day. As Bethany began to work on Gerri, I couldn't help but smile as the pink foils were placed in her hair after the dark purple dye was applied. Gerri looked at me and said, "WHAT???" I started to laugh and told her she looked so funny. Then it was my turn.

Bethany worked on me for over an hour. I was getting a full head of highlights so she must have put in close to 100 foils. As Bethany worked, Gerri started to smile and talk about my family, asking how each one of my children and grandchildren were. She told me that my husband, Phil, was a good man and it was evident that he loved me. I glanced over to the waiting area to look at my sweet husband who was sitting patiently with Gerri's husband, Doc. How many guys do you know that would sit in a salon for over 2 hours waiting on their wives to get their hair done and not voice a word of complaint? Not many, I can assure you. After our hair was finished, we went to check out and make our next appointments. Once again, we made them together.

Gerri with her foils getting her purple streak

Once in the car, Gerri and I began to talk. Somehow, the subject of death was brought up and Gerri said, "when I die, I want to be cremated." I told her that I'd planned the same thing and said I'd already purchased an urn. I told her I kept it in the living room on the floor by my bookcase and if it survived being kicked over and broken, that I planned to have it used to carry my ashes over to Cumberland Island where I'll be sprinkled one day. Gerri listened intently and then said, "I want to be planted." "Planted?" I said. "Yes. I found a company that sells these little pots with dirt and a tree seedling in them and they say you can have your ashes mixed in with it and be planted." I looked at her in surprise and she continued, "I want to be planted where my grandchildren can climb up on my limbs one day." As I listened, I heard a deep sadness behind Gerri's comments.

Me in foils getting my highlights

After dinner, we drove back to Gerri's house to visit a little longer. When we got inside, Gerri sat down in her recliner. I could tell she was tired and I was too. She saw me adjusting my bra and said, "You know, you don't have to wear those things for me. Why don't you take them off?" She knew my prostheses were very heavy and hot in the summertime. They'd been riding up all day and I'd been having to yank them back down into place. She told me there were some empty bags in the kitchen and I could get one of those to put my "boobs" in, so I took one and headed toward her bathroom.

When I came back into the living room, we smiled at one another. "See, doesn't that feel better?" she said. "Yes! I hate those things!" I said. Gerri told me I should just not wear them and I agreed with her. She knew me well. She knew it embarrassed me to go out in public with out my "boobs" on. Gerri told me I needed a vest like hers. She said the vest was good camouflage and that often, she went braless. She told me that no one ever knew because she had the vest on to hide herself but it was so much more comfortable than wearing a restricting bra. We had a good laugh over it and then Doc, Gerri's husband, began tinkering with a new Bluetooth receiver he'd just gotten in the mail.

I made the mistake of asking Doc how loud his surround sound speakers would go. Doc loves music just about better than anything and I knew he'd enjoy cranking it up a little for a good cause. Gerri shot me an "oh, thanks a lot, Bonnie" glance and put her fingers in her ears. Doc increased the volume and we were surrounded by melodious notes.

The sun was going down and I told Gerri we'd better be getting on back home. As we said our goodbyes, I gave her a big hug and started down the stairs. She called me back and said she wanted just one more hug, so I obliged. We got in our car and waved as we pulled off.

On Friday, June 26th, I got a Facebook message from one of my seminary professors, Dr. Gary Greene. Gary had been the instructor for a class that Gerri and I had taken together. I hadn't talked to him in years, so when I received his message to contact him, I was taken aback. When I got in touch with him, he asked if I'd heard about Gerri. I replied that I had not and he proceeded to ask me to call him. I knew at that point that something was very wrong.

Gary answered my call almost immediately. Again, he asked if I'd heard about Gerri. I responded that I had not and asked what was wrong. Gary told me that Gerri was dead. I could not believe my ears and at first, thought he was playing some sort of sick joke on me. I questioned him, asking if he was sure and how did he know...who gave him the information, and he said he'd heard from one of his neighbors who was also a friend of Doc and Gerri's.

Immediately I called Gerri's cell phone number. I don't know why I did it, I guess I was just in shock and needed answers. Doc answered and I asked if Gerri was okay. He told me that she had passed away. I asked what happened and he recounted the story to me. Now it was starting to sink in, my best friend, the one person I felt knew me inside and out, was gone.

My heart was broken and it took days to process Gerri's death. I'm still struggling with it today. The only thing that gives me consolation is knowing that I will see her again one day. Gerri was a Christian. She loved the Lord with all her heart and wanted others to know it.

Gerri and I were so much alike. One of the things that drew us to one another was knowing our pasts were so similar. We were able to accept each other, warts and all. We never judged one another, we just loved one another.

I'm so thankful for last Friday. Spending those minutes and hours with my "bestie" will forever be etched into my memory. I can still see her sweet smile in my mind as she sat in the salon chair, hear head sporting pink foils clipped together on top of her head full of cropped hair. I'm thankful I had an inkling, while at dinner, to snap a cell phone photo of Gerri and Doc. Little did I know it would be the last time I'd ever see them together. I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to tell her I loved her as we left their house that evening and I'm so thankful I agreed to go back for that second hug.  Oh, if I'd been in a hurry, I might not have taken the time to give her one last squeeze.

I think God knew I'd need these sweet memories to cling to this week as I've struggled to process Gerri's death. I know Gerri's in the presence of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Her body isn't in pain any longer. She doesn't have to struggle in this wicked world for one more second either. My heart still aches for my sweet friend but I know I'll see her again one day. I can almost hear Gerri telling me to "suck it up and move on." She was very blunt at times but very honest to a fault.

I loved my "Ace Boon Coon" and I know she loved me too. I'm so thankful God allowed us to meet all those years ago at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. He knew we'd be important parts of each others' lives and for that, I've extremely grateful.

Gerri and her son, Jeff

© bonnie annis all rights reserved