Last week, I embarked on a journey filled with mixed emotions as I headed to visit one of my dearest friends, who had chosen to enter hospice care. After a long battle with cancer, she faced the harsh reality that further treatments were no longer effective. My husband graciously drove me through relentless storms for three hours, patiently waiting outside while I spent precious time with Robin.
As we navigated the pouring rain, I found myself pondering whether my presence could offer any comfort or hope during her difficult time. Would I be encroaching upon the intimate circle of her family, including her husband, daughters, and sisters? Their reassurance came quickly: “No, she will be thrilled to see you.”
Moments of connection
When I arrived, Robin was resting in a hospital bed that her husband had placed in their dining area. She relied on oxygen for each breath, with a hospice nurse’s aide providing support nearby. Despite her frail condition, Robin reached out to me, and we embraced as I held her hand gently.
Though she was heavily medicated and unable to move freely, her mind remained clear. In a calm and detailed manner, Robin recounted the agonizing pain she had endured, leading to her ambulance ride and subsequent emergency surgery. Acknowledging her impending fate, she made the courageous choice to enter hospice care, resigning herself to the reality of her situation. “I won’t be wearing my contact lenses or hearing aids anymore; they’re unnecessary now,” she stated.
Shared history and cherished memories
Our friendship traces back nearly fifty years to our college days, where we first met while establishing Sonoma County Women Against Rape in the 1970s. Initiated by a dedicated nurse, we received training to become rape crisis counselors. Alongside a few passionate students, we operated a crisis hotline from our homes and accompanied survivors through hospital visits and courtroom proceedings.
From that foundational moment, our bond deepened. After college, Robin pursued a law degree while I earned my teaching credentials. We created lasting memories camping along the California coast and embarking on two trips to Guatemala together.
Even though life took us to different towns, we maintained a strong connection. After a brief stint as a lawyer, Robin transitioned to divinity school, ultimately becoming a Methodist minister, while I took on the role of a school principal. Throughout the years, we regularly caught up, exchanging letters filled with updates about our loves, struggles, and the ups and downs of parenting.
Finding laughter amid sorrow
Robin had a remarkable ability to bring joy, even during our darkest moments. We both encountered our share of challenging jobs, and our discussions often revolved around supporting each other through tough times. Her husband would often joke that we acted as each other’s therapists. Despite our differing backgrounds—her as a Methodist and me as a Jew—our shared values in spirituality, compassion, feminism, social justice, and civil rights solidified our connection. We often expressed our desire to grow old together, yet her departure came far too soon.
Last moments and lasting lessons
During our final conversation, Robin and I acknowledged the richness of our lives. It was essential to recognize that while we had faced difficulties, our experiences shaped us. I presented her with a black-and-white photograph from 1977, capturing a moment during my volunteering at an earthquake relief hospital in Guatemala. The image featured Robin, our friend Betty, and me alongside two Cakchiquel women and children clad in beautifully crafted huipiles. She reminisced fondly about Betty, who had passed away a few years prior. “It’s odd,” she mused, “how every photo seems to hold the memory of someone who has left us.”
As it came time for me to depart, we embraced tightly, affirming our love for one another. The following day, I received a text from her husband, sharing that shortly after I left, Robin had drifted off to sleep, only to wake up moments later and express concern, saying, “You need to give Becki something to eat.” Even in her final hours, her thoughts extended beyond herself.
Her daughter remarked that many people experience moments of clarity before passing, but both Robin and I felt she was vibrantly alive. Tragically, she passed away the next evening. I am profoundly thankful for the time we shared together.
Embracing the reality of loss
As we age, the reality of loss becomes an inevitable part of life. A friend of my father’s, now in his nineties, once shared that reaching your sixties often brings the first waves of losing loved ones, with the frequency increasing in your seventies and eighties. Now in my seventies, I can attest to the truth in these words.
Robin’s passing serves as a poignant reminder of the importance of cherishing our relationships, both old and new. She leaves behind a legacy of fond memories and invaluable lessons about the nature of friendship and love.
