My Guardian Angel, My Best Friend

Who will be waiting to help me get to heaven?

If heaven is to be an option for me, I hope that one person waiting will be my best friend, Pam. She was and always will be my best friend, one of the few real friends that I have had and probably ever will have.

I will never have the opportunity to experience living life with a sister (my brother being my only sibling). I loved my friend, Pam, as if she could have been my sister. If I could have had the opportunity, I would have chosen to have a sister exactly like her. I wondered quite often if her brothers and sister knew just how lucky they were to have someone as her, in their lives.
Pam was a few years younger than me, but her demeanor, intellect, poise, and her added height (that I lacked) would present her as the older of the two of us. She was an overwhelmingly patient sort of soul, with an aire of class that no one could ever hold a candle to. Her kindness never ran out, nor ran short. She listened to me whenever I needed someone to lean on, no matter the time of day. Pam constantly strived for nothing less than a decent, proper person, and the "best Registered Nurse" she could possibly be. She held a Bachelor's Degree in Nursing from the University of Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

I remember Pam's Nursing graduation party. It was more fun than I remember having in years. I played baseball for the first time in what seemed as forever. We laughed non-stop throughout the day. The evening bonfire, with her brother playing his guitar, brought a quiet completeness to a wonderful day- Pam's day.

We met around 1986, at Edgerton Hospital, in Wisconsin. She was in Nursing school, working as a Tech. I worked as a Nurses Aide. I followed, for our years of friendship, through her many trials and turmoils in school. I was young, and in a not-so-wonderful marriage, working two jobs.
We became friends fast, and worked well together (when our schedules placed us in the same units).

Being friends and working with Pam was always enjoyable. She had a way of taking a person "under her wing". Always compassionate, making sure you were doing well, and wouldn't hesitate to jump in if you needed a helping hand.
Pam placed a high importance and regard in helping and teaching others, going above and beyond to make sure a person understood things dealing with nursing, or otherwise, and never let any co-worker feel left out of the group.

I always thought that Pam saw a little bird struggling to fly, in me. She helped give me that boost of confidence that I desperately needed to find within myself, to know that I could do just about anything on my own. She showed me how to look differently at the challenges that I would face in the future by welcoming them, to ease my fear of the unknown, and therefore adapt and overcome (never giving up unless absolutely necessary).

I remember how much it hurt when Pam told me she was moving away. We vowed to keep in touch. I always thought about her. I wrote occasionally (before the days of email). Though we couldn't afford to call often, we promised to at least try to call around the holidays (which we always tried to hold to). Pam took time to mail me cards, stories, or poems that she had written, along with little extras of encouragement and hope.

One very special quality about my friend, Pam, will always stand out in my mind forever- she accepted me for the person that I am, never trying to change anything about me, nor did she expect me to change what made me who I am. During my struggles with Bulemia, when she would notice changes in me, she had a way of looking me in the eyes and would ask me "why" I had changed. She would then take my hand, remind me that I am wonderful just the way that I am, smile, and give me a hug. This is a quality so rare to find in people these days, and one that I miss very much.

It was such a joyous time when I received a phone call from Pam to announce her and her fiance, Frank's return to Wisconsin, home again. We both continued to live busy lives, but continued to keep in touch. We still laughed, cried, and cared for each other no differently than the first day that we'd met, and made a point to keep in contact as often as possible.
I remember the house warming Halloween party thrown for a few close friends and family, by Pam and Frank, celebrating being in their first, new home in Milton, Wisconsin. There was a comstume party (which I won out of the adults present), a pinata (such fun sseing the kids' faces when it broke and candy flew all over the basement. Little arms and legs everywhere, scrambling to fill the treat bags that Pam had gotten for them), and dishes of food brought by the guests to add to what Pam and Frank had offered (my dish was Deviled Eggs with plastic ants and flies on them). We played games and watched movies. A room in her basement had been makeshifted into a small haunted house with fake cobwebs, blacklight, and eerie sounds through the huge speakers of her brother's guitar equipment. Her brothers, sister, and fiance dressed in costume for roles of the Vampire and the such. It was the best Halloween party that I can remember.

I was honored to be present at my friend's beautiful wedding to her fiance, Frank. It was a very family-oriented reception. I remember her telling me how happy she was and felt so lucky, like her life was turning into a wonderful, personal fairytale.

Her phone call to me announcing that she was expecting her first baby was so exciting. I don't know who was the moreso, between us. She gave birth to Shawna, whom she whole heartedly loved and adored more than life itself. She was only about three years old the last time that I saw her, and such a bouncy, little girl,and so inquisitive to learn about everything around her. Pam had set up a whole room for her to learn and play in. The living room had an area incorporated into it, so that she could still be with her parents, but do "her own thing", if she chose.

Pam had become very ill with kidney stones and severe pain. It was not only affecting her job, but her life. The pain never went away, it just accumulated over time to come.

Pam gave the 4H fair new meaning to me. I met her one year, when our kids were small, on one of the hottest days for the fair. We pushed our strollers around, navigating all the electrical cords en route (which became more an irritation toward the end of the day). My oldest son walked between us like the proud protector of us all. We looked at the animals, ate E'claires, drank lemonade, watched my oldest son go on the few rides I could afford, and finished it off with cheap, little prizes from the Dart Balloon game. For years following, my oldest remembered her as "The Fair Lady" (she laughed quite hard when I told her).

There were the Christmas cards always, every year, except for one (Christmas of 2000). It struck me odd, but everyone's enitled to forgetting at least once. I would try to make sure she got a phone call from me, if I was unable to send a card in time. I had thought quite a bit about Pam, during the Fall of 2000. I hadn't seen her or talked to her in such a long time. She was in so much pain at this point, that she was on indefinite leave from her Nursing job, had extreme difficulty taking care of Shawna, and couldn't even ride in a car. Her marriage to Frank was strained, and looking grim, at this point. My reality of being extremely busy with my own divorce, two jobs, and three kids, began to play in my head that this was turning into more of an excuse due to many unpleasant things going on in my own life. I didn't want to burden her and call with depressing things...again. It haunted me that I had put off calling. That wasn't the type of friend that I was. We've shared in each other's tough times, no matter how low the point was or seemed to be in each of our lives. We were just glad for the times that we were able to see each other. The comfort of a hug and a shoulder to cry on, if needed, were enough to make you hold on and not let go.

Two things I will always cherish about my best friend is the comforting security of, and my memories of our friendship.

To this day, her cherished "good luck" kitten figurine still sits next to my bed on a little stand. I remember how she searched, struggling to remember where it was (she was very ill at this point that her memory was becoming affected). My Nursing judgment alerted me to the changes in her. Fear struck in me when she gave me her favorite figurine, and without it said between us, came the sickly feeling it may be the last I ever see of her. It was as if she were getting her business in order, giving away precious items to those people important to her life. She had mentioned her health and relationship with Frank were poor, didn't feel it fair to Shawna to have a mom she couldn't have fun with (due to the extent of her pain), and had even been discussing with Frank who would be acceptable to take her place as Shawna's mom and his wife, if she passed. This was so startling and uncharacteristic of the friend that I had grown to know.

My friend was falling apart. I didn't feel like I was very helpful at repaying all she'd done to be there for me through the years. She was , with all right, becoming angry. Angry at how her illness interfered in her livelihood, her time with her husband and Shawna. She cried while telling me she felt Shawna deserved a real mother, not her. Frank began spending more hours at work, and I felt the tension in the room between them during my last visit. She mentioned how Frank seemed to distance himself in a different room from her and Shawna when he would get home alot, and she was beginning to feel inadequate, with thoughts of him possibly entering into an affair. She told me how he would tell her, more frequently, how she wasn't the person he married, and was having a difficult time dealing with her illness (Frank had big degrees in Psychology by this time, and a Professor position at a local University). She was extremely angry at the "graffiti", as she called it. Assorted, multi-colored post-it notes that formed a never ending chain at eye level in every room of her house (she explained to me that these post-it notes were to help her remember things. Specific things and their level of importance were issued certain colors.

What bothered Pam the most is that she gave new meaning to a "tackle box" (like the kind used for fishing). My seemingly healthy, happy, and together (body, life and mind) friend was a shell of her former self. She went from one pain pill to no one knowing the cause for so much chronic pain, and spiraled from there to become a withered shell giving up on life. She was controlled by now a tackle box full of medicine and pain patches in all shapes and forms, each tray and the bottom compartment almost to the point of overflowing. She had to journal the regimine just to keep it straight, to remember what she had taken and when, though she couldn't even remember whether it was daytime hours or evening hours when I was visiting. I tried to beg her to find another doctor. I pulled from my Nursing to remind her that medicine can cause a delirium, a sort of confusion due to possible reaction between medicines, or even a toxicity from the combinations and dosages. It was hard not to jump right in and interefere, but she assured me that Frank was helping her by looking into doctors and options, and that her parents were very aware of the situation at hand, also. I left my visit extremely bothered, and very scared for Pam. I remember how embarrassed she was to show me her tackle box, still she tried to find humour in it all.

Pam tried to stay strong, and when she felt it too tough to endure at one point, she actually called on me- of all people, "ME". Why? Because she knew I'd understand and never judge, either. I was finally able to try and help her to glide with the wings that she'd encouraged me to use. It felt wonderful to give to her something in return, to tell her that I loved her, and that I would always be here for her. It didn't matter when, what time, or where I was. I meant it.

I can't explain the feeling (to this day) of calling to wish Pam and her family a Happy New Year for 2001 on January 2, only to find that she'd unexpectedly passed away in her sleep, with her daughter Shawna in her arms, on July 15, 2000.

I haven't come to terms with my loss. Maybe I never will. Her Nursing graduation picture still remains tucked under the memo board with the postcard of "Courage" on my computer cabinet. Her kitten remains on the same small table next to my bed. I look at it every time I'm in my bedroom and wish it could link me to talk to her.
I have a huge void, and I'm still heartbroken. I want so badly to hear Pam's voice, to know she's near, to talk to her.

She will never be lost from my life. As she told me while cupping the kitten figurine in my hand, "all you have to do is hold the kitten in your hand and shut your eyes...and I'll be there". She always is, and always will be.

My best friend is the best guardian angel I could ever hope to have.

(It took me until January 31, 2001 to write this tribute about Pam. I was so devastated, and felt this would be a good healing process for me, though I still cry each time I read this and relive it over. After finding out about her death, I copied this and mailed it to Pam's parents. They informed me that six months after her passing, her husband had yet to buy a marker for her grave. I have yet to visit her gravesite. One step at a time. I want to share this with all who are willing to take the time and read. Good people, and good memories, are worth sharing. Think of what you value in a person and their friendship, and remember to always reciprocate that of yourself).