The Hard Good-bye
The hardest good-bye is the one never spoken.
The call was, as most are in these situations, expected. But I knew from experience that even though I expected it, no amount of preparation was going to help me once it actually came.
And it came. Two weeks ago. The moment I heard Gabe, my best friend Niki’s son, say, “It’s about Mom,” I knew.
His tone was a little distant, as if he’d probably had this conversation a few times before he called me, the repetition making the words less painful. Words and phrases like “infection,” “emergency room,” “sedated,” “rallied,” “body couldn’t fight,” and “septic” ricocheted throughout my numb brain, never settling into a pattern of complete comprehension. It didn’t matter. I knew what Niki died of. It was the same in the beginning of her painful illness as it was in the end: heart disease.
Niki Randall was my best friend for nearly 22 years. There’s not enough room in my allocated space to fully write about how very much she meant to me; about what a phenomenal person she was. She was the smartest—and strongest—person I knew. She was my mentor. I considered myself so lucky at just 20 years old to have such an intelligent woman befriend and mentor me.
Niki was an artist and a writer, but so much more than that, too. She could design and build and organize and plan and garden and cook. She studied organizational development and physics. She was spiritual in a very pragmatic way and taught me about metaphysics.
Niki guided me through numerous boyfriends and friendships with advice, compassion—and quite a bit of chastising. She helped me through my pregnancy and was with me when my daughter, Avery, was born. She was Avery’s self–proclaimed godmother.
But as physically (and emotionally) strong as Niki had been, she also eventually got heart disease. She had her first heart attack in her late 40s and quadruple heart bypass surgery before she turned 50. Over the next several years she had at least two bypasses on each leg. But the bypasses didn’t help and her legs eventually had to be amputated.
A few years after her heart bypass, Niki moved to Texas because her body couldn’t handle the Ohio winters anymore. She lived in an apartment and tried to be as self sufficient as possible while struggling to accept that she had to rely on others for so many basic things.
Once Niki moved, I didn’t keep in touch with her as much as I should have. We had our last phone call in the middle of April. I ran into Gabe and his wife Laura at the grocery store the day before Mother’s Day. I said I was due to call Niki and would do it the next day. I never made the call. The guilt over not calling Niki on Mother’s Day, or on any of the days that followed, has been nearly overwhelming.
My boyfriend Russ says he was taught to always say “I love you” at the end of a phone call because you never know when something bad could happen and you might never talk to that person again. I had begun to think it was almost trite, this phrase uttered quickly at the end of every phone call before the good-byes are said.
I don’t think that way anymore.
Thank You, Meredith
And, we say a sad good-bye to our Events editor, and my good friend, Meredith Mariani. Meredith has been supportive of epitome since the beginning, when it was just an idea in my head, and has been with the magazine ever since. If something needed to be done, Meredith was more than happy to help make it happen, from research, to distribution, to writing.
In the past year, however, Meredith’s schedule has been filling up with activities involving her two girls and an increased work schedule, making it difficult for her to find time to work on the Events calendar. This past year she hung in with us, trying to fit it all in, but has finally had to give up this position. This is her last issue as the Events editor.
Thank you, Meredith, for everything—your hard work, support and positive attitude.
We will miss you.
Maureen Londergan
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