I've had plenty of opportunities to reflect lately, and it’s hard to reflect too long without the image of my cousin Anna floating on to better places. When I let those reflections take a darker, more existential route, I reach the upsetting realization that I had a chance to write to Anna in the month before she floated on, and I didn’t. Now, looking back, all things considered, it hurts to realize I had that open-ended invitation to write something back to her, and that I never did.
Our exchange went like this: “Happy Birthday Anna!” etc, and she responded (yes, she took the time to respond to me!) with “Thanks Laura! Hope you’ve been having a good summer. I remember reading it thinking, I should really reply. But then something stopped me; I was petrified by what to say and by every way my words could potentially be misconstrued or misinterpreted; I worried that nothing I said could be significant to her. Somewhere in all that hesitation, I never responded. I forgot that important part where you actually transfer those thoughts to the computer and push the send button.
There’s so much I wish I had said. Instead, my fear and my pride held me back from communicating with a cousin with only months to live. Instead, I always meant to write her and never got around to it, and then suddenly Dad sat us down, looked at us, and said Anna was floating on. Instead of being all caught up in myself and my worries, I should have thought about Anna and how my words of encouragement, support, and admiration, could have possibly brightened her day.
“Dear Anna,” I might have said, “You are an amazing young woman. You are so beautiful and strong. You’re selfless, brave, and incredibly loving. You’ve inspired me with your hope, peace, and love, and you’ve touched a million people. I’m praying for you and your family, and I know you all will stay strong and continue to lean on God. Keep fighting, Anna. You’re amazing. Love, Laura.”
Instead, nothing. Now, instead of beating myself up over this, I’m learning. Anna continues to impact my life and to teach the meaning of friendship and love. Thanks to Anna, I’ve come to appreciate friends, family, and love even more, and as a result, I’ve realized you should always take that time to reach out to your friends, even if it is to just say hi.
It only takes two minutes to enter someone’s life again. Thanks to technology, all you have to do is log into Facebook, search a friend, and leave a little note on the wall. I’m trying to leave notes on friends’ walls when I haven’t seen them for months, or even years. I text random people just to say hi, how are you. So I’m challenging you to reach out to your friends again. Take the time to say hi, to ask a few questions, to show you remember them and that you care. You never know what could have happened in their lives or when they’re going to float on.
Because God works in mysterious ways.
Float on, Anna Lee Basso, float on.
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