The fading of Maria

My dear friend Maria lives on Maryland's Eastern Shore. She's a wonderful person--warm, smart, sweet, lively, generous--and stressed out.



I'd been to stay one weekend last March when her husband was on business for two weeks in China (they tried to serve him dog at one restaurant--he abstained), and we had a nice weekend.



Her father had just died at the end of January, so I spent time sitting in her kitchen while she cooked us dinner and lunch the next day talking about him. I asked to see pictures of the two of them together, and she pulled out old cardboard boxes of her family, and she picked through them and told me about her dad (she was the favorite), her parents' marriage, and how her mom was coping now that her father had finally died. She felt better talking about him, and I was glad to listen to her. She's always been so generous with me that I almost hated to go shopping with her, because she had to buy me something I'd admire but put back on the shelf.

When I hugged her goodbye that Sunday, she said, "The next time you come, we'll go for massages!" I wondered if she'd felt the tension in my back or was just being generous, as usual.

I drove home and emailed her my thanks, and she wrote back right away, telling me how glad she was that I came to stay, and that she was looking forward to doing it again, soon.

Not too long after that, the emails from her came to a halt. We didn't always exchange life-story emails; much of the time it was just stupid stuff that we knew would make each other laugh. I'm always up for a good hoot, and Maria had a lot of jokes in her email queue that weekend she was showing me and forwarding me so I could pass them along to my other friends.

I kept sending her stuff I knew she'd like, expecting her to just pick up where she'd left off when she could. I knew she was coming up to a six-week trip at work and might only be home for weekends, but this just wasn't like her. My friend Jane and I kept emailing each other: "Have you heard from Maria?" The answer was always no.

After a while, I began sending her emails saying, "I hope you're OK. I know you've been busy, but I want to let you know how much I miss you and am thinking about you. Please get in touch when you can, if only to let me know how you are doing." Nothing.

So, I decided to just let things go for a while. She called me from work one day to let me know something job-related (mine, not hers), and she was the same old bubbly Maria. "I've just been so busy, you have no idea!" I told her I was glad to hear from her, to please write when she could, and to send funny stuff if she didn't have the time to write. She said she was looking forward to having me come stay again, and "couldn't wait" to have lunch with Jane and myself. "Has it already been six months since the three of us got together?" Yes, it was.

I guess I should have known by this point that nothing would come of it. Back to no communication from her. I'd emailed Jane breathlessly with "I've finally heard from Maria!" in the subject line of my triumphant email. A short-lived victory, indeed.

I called her a couple of months later and left a voicemail on her cell phone, saying that I was hoping to actually talk to her, and could she get in touch by phone. Silence. So, I decided to just think about her with love, and let the rest be up to her. I told Jane that I was through trying to contact her, and that she was probably going through a lot with her family and work, and she would just have to contact us when she was ready.

For her birthday a month ago, I sent her a Hallmark e-card, and wrote her a brief message saying I hope she was well, and told her a few things about me, keeping things light and upbeat. I heard from her a couple of days later: "Hey! So glad to hear from you! I'll write more this weekend. 2006 was so long and so short at the same time. Can't wait to hear more from you." I haven't heard a word since.