On Saturday I attended a “celebration of life” gathering for my oldest friend, Kay Freeman Terzian. It was so strange walking into her house and not seeing her there. Whenever I would visit her through the years, which wasn’t often enough due to distance, she’d always greet me with her sweet smile that quickly became a giggle as we shared one of our insider jokes. We were friends nearly 50 years and though different in many ways–she was sweet-natured where I’m Type A and she had a firm view from early on of what she wanted from life and in a husband where I bumbled from one bad marriage to the next before finally getting it right—we shared the common ground of our memories, a love of language, and an appreciation for the ironies of life. She had what I call the cosmic giggle: She could find humor in even the crappy hands we’re sometimes dealt in life. Most of all she was the kind of friend who embodied the old Chinese saying: “True friends are like evergreens, you know them when winter comes.”
After the initial shock of her not being there, I began to see her everywhere: In the faces of her beautiful and accomplished daughters, the eldest of whom, Erin, looks just as she did at that age, and precious 6-month granddaughter, Darby; in her husband Phil, a dear friend as well, who is a reminder that she chose well; in her sisters and other friends, each of whom had a story to tell about Kay that I either hadn’t heard before or that illuminated a facet of her I knew well; in the home she created that was such a loving one and so full of light. Then there were my books, all of them, lined up in her bookcase in a place of pride. I’ve always known she was proud of my writing career but not the extent of it until then. So many people came up to me to say they had read my novels because of Kay – she was my best promoter and she also worked in a library. I was beyond touched. I have tears streaming down my cheeks as I write this. She was a true friend in every sense. As I grow older I realize more and more how rare such friendships are. We must treasure them while we may and hold the memories close when they’re gone. Because there’s truth in the old chestnut Life is short. It’s what we leave behind that is the measure of one’s life.
One last story about Kay. When I was married to husband no. 2 (who shall go unnamed) and miserable beyond description, she would visit me in Santa Cruz even though she was scared of driving over steep and twisty Highway 17 and had to put up with my then husband who was given to bursts of temper even in the presence of guests. In my final annus horriblis of that marriage I forgot to send Kay a birthday card – it was the one year either of us forgot the other’s birthday before or since–and instead of being hurt she phoned me to ask, “Is everything all right?” She was concerned because she knew I wouldn’t have forgotten her birthday unless there was a good reason. That was Kay. She had a heart bigger than she was, one I was blessed to find a home in. Good-bye dear friend. You will always be remembered.
