My friend Kathi...

Thank God for my tribe.

Once in a while, I need to write some opposing words to my usual angst filled rants. Today, I want to pay homage to one of my fellow tribeswomen. Isn’t it ironic that we wait until someone’s passing to eulogize them and speak about our love for them? Why is that? I don’t want to wait. Our feelings of appreciation about our friends should be spread wide and far…. Now….While they’re alive and can hear them.

I did a stint as a school secretary in our town’s sizable high school. This job was seriously overwhelming as thousands of teenagers, full of energy and hormones, swarmed the halls of this monstrous high school. It took months to make sense of this position as it was centered right inside the entrance, encased in walls of glass like a fishbowl, where everyone coming and going had to pass. It was an endless cavalcade of faces; students, staff, parents.

But it gave me a front row seat, like it or not, to people watch. One morning as I watched the hordes of students between passing periods, I focused in on this small, older woman chewing out a lanky, 6-foot tall football player. I knew he was on the football team because every Friday, during football season, the players wore their jerseys to school. And, I knew it was a chewing out because of the way he hung his head, partially to be at her level and listen to the tiny woman but also because he had been busted and was showing his contrition while receiving the riot act. He, in some way, had pissed her off as she was poking her finger at him, not forcefully but intently as she scolded him for some indiscretion. I had laser focused in on this encounter, wondering not only who this feisty woman was but impressed that the teen football stud was taking it. Even though they were yards from the reception area and we were separated by glass, I could see him mouthing the words; “yes ma’am….yes ma’am….yes ma’am”. When she was satisfied that she’d gotten her point across, they ended with a smile with her waving him on to class. Not only was that a great distraction but it made me wonder and ask around about who this woman was. I liked her and knew she and I could be friends.

I was right. Kathi and I became fast friends and are still friends, twenty years later. Of course, we had a good laugh as I had to ask her about what she was scolding this kid for and turns out, he had putzed around, got some failing grades and was in jeopardy of losing a potential scholarship. This pissed her off and she wasted no time in letting him know not only his value but not to be a screw up and blow this opportunity.

In short, she cared.

Her way of caring is so endearing, I’m not sure I’ve met anyone like her. Kathi is maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, as Irish as they come, has a mouth on her that would make a sailor blush and a heart that is pure gold. She loves hard and pure. Her family and faith are EVERYTHING to her. Once you’re locked in and loved by Kathi, that never changes, you’re in for life. It’s the same for the dozens of dogs she’s had, she will stay with them to the end, no matter how much of a pain-in-the-ass they are from time to time.

Over the years, we’ve buried friends and dogs, raised hell together, watched our students grow and flourish, drank endless cups of coffee, ranted against our aging processes. But mostly we’ve talked. The kind of talk that makes you know that there’s someone in the world that gets you. The kind of talk that lifts you up as a woman, a friend, a fellow human being. The kind of talking where you share your darkest and most vulnerable sides, the stuff you may only share only a few times in your life. Sometimes we solve the world’s problems together, sometimes it’s a major bitch session and sometimes it gets really deep and personal.

Kathi has been there for me in my ugliest of times but still somehow manages to see my beauty. When I sank into a deep suicidal depression as my beloved marriage crumbled and begin to cut myself, she got me to the hospital, crying and praying the whole way there. She welcomed me home afterwards without an ounce of judgment but instead an unconditional hug while whispering, “hang in there, this won’t beat you”. She’s listened late into the night while I’ve hung by a thread, trying to manage the flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse and rape. She “borrowed” a rosary from the parochial school/church she attends because she knew that sometimes all I could do to stay afloat was curl up and pray. She saves images of Mother Mary and handwrites prayers for me. We talked a lot about prayer. She NEVER bludgeoned me with religion but instead offered spirituality. I wear that rosary daily as a reminder of what love can do.

She walks her faith because she too, has survived unspeakable betrayal when her husband left her with their 3 children. He deserted her in the throws of a cancer diagnosis and left the boys to care for their terrified mother who worried more about them instead of herself. They learned to cook and how to get her to chemo, wearing out of date clothing while trying to navigate adolescence. While Kathi was still reeling from the loss of a full term stillborn son, she endured poverty and humiliation as she rebuilt her life, step by step, prayer by prayer.

Kathi knew my husband before she knew me. Before we were together, I’d listen to her describe him as one of the nicest men she’d ever met. She was tickled when we instantly clicked and got married, merging households and children. Kathi locked in my husband with the same certainty that she did later for me. In our more recent late night talks, she is still grappling with what happened to him. Sure, she bitches about him, calls him every name in the book and with ferocity, rages against his decision to abandon our family. But mostly, it’s the sadness I hear in her voice. The sadness and confusion as to what happened, how could he not be the person she thought he was, the grief of losing him to his brokenness.

It goes back to this thing about being locked in. Once Kathi has taken you into her heart, she doesn’t know how to discard you. She doesn’t know to make sense of her husband’s actions or mine. She doesn’t understand how anyone leaves family. And on a more global level, she doesn’t understand injustices. Maybe this is one of things I love about her most.

Kathi has recently started to drop by with groceries and dog treats that she inadvertently bought too many of. I know she’s tired of watching me survive on cream of wheat and fried egg sandwiches. She knows that dog treats are a luxury item for me now as my income has dropped significantly once my husband left. We both laugh because she knows I know what she’s doing. I invite her in and make her a cup of coffee. She wants to do more but I won’t let her. Not because of pride but because I know that friendship like this is invaluable and something that I’d never take advantage of.

I consider it a blessing to have Kathi as a friend and would like to say that I will spend more time in gratitude of life’s blessings instead of its downside. It’s certainly a process that I’m trying to lean into. And ultimately, I think everyone should be blessed with a Kathi in their life.