The importance of going

I knew Shawn from another time. Decades ago. She was so lovely. So warm. So loving. We didn’t keep in touch after my divorce. Not really. I would hear about her and Mark her husband. Once in a blue moon would run into them. Then last November, they visited Maui. Came over for a dinner that Cristina put together. And the years melted away. As they always do when you have a friend who has seen all the way inside of you.

Just a few weeks later. Shawn was diagnosed with glioblastoma. Not operable. She did not survive.

Today is her memorial service in Portland. And the question was never would I go.

I get up at 7:30 on a Sunday morning. Drive to the airport. Arrive at 8:30. Wind my way to the gate. And wait. Take off. Land. Uber to the event center. And as I am walking slowly up the steps, with others. Two posters of Shawn flank the entrance.

The room is filled. There are photos and memories shared. Videos. And Mark talks through the tears.

And as her daughter Nina expresses surprise and satisfaction at how many people have shown up to pay homage to her mother and the family, I am so glad. That I never tried to talk myself out of going. That I knew that I was going to go - regardless. And that I went.

Photo: selfie at the airport.