Sunday morning began with a phone call I couldn’t have anticipated in a hundred years. My friend Becca had just died. Becca. BECCA! No way! No. Just. NO!
Her boyfriend told me she’d been admitted to the hospital on Friday with a(nother?) broken leg. Or perhaps her previous break had problems. He saw her on Saturday. Sunday morning, her aunt calls to say she died. How does this happen? Why?
I have four sent texts saved on my phone. One was to her and her son after faire this past spring. It read #pickle. If you knew her son, you’d be laughing your ass off right now. He’s a special young man. Aspergers. Just becoming a teen. And now his rock, his only light is gone. I’m crying for him, his loss, and the fact that his mom is gone from us. Each and every time I think of B, I cry because everything she did she did for him.
All of us are stunned by this news. It’s not right. It’s…it’s so wrong in so many ways.
This makes two friends I’ve lost this summer. Both amazing women. Both some of the most incredible spirits I’ve ever encountered. Our little corner at faire is now going to be their corner. Forever their corner.
Becca, my friend, please know we’re missing you and we’ll do whatever we can to help your boy. We love you!