The Impression of Libby
Sheila Sims Iding
You know the saying about how friends come and go and leave footprints in your heart? I have been blessed with so many special friends (probably more than most) and there are several sets of footprints on my heart. But there are also more than footprints. Footprints leave…well…prints. Some people leave more than “prints.” Some friends leave “impressions”. The kind of impressions you use to mold or shape something. Some friends have left very special footprints on my heart that will be there forever. But some friends have left impressions that have molded my heart and changed it forever. It was that way with Libby.
Libby was a kindred spirit of sorts. You only get so many kindred spirits in life where your thoughts and hearts and feelings are connected without even saying a word. She was from Kentucky and had that slow, sweet Kentucky accent. We worked together as legal secretaries and so we got to spend our days together. Her husband was a forester and was out of town most of one summer with a special project. I happened to be at her apartment a lot that summer and I was there when she got the call that her father died. I knew God put me there so she wouldn’t have to be alone when she heard those words. God knew of our kindred spirit-ship. Who am I kidding? God was probably the guide of it. So, although a difficult situation, I was honored to be the one to help her…to hold her…when she was hurting.
When my father died unexpectedly a few years later, I turned to Libby for comfort and advice. She had already been through this. She was as close to her dad as I was to mine. I knew she could tell me about the sorrow, talk me through it and give me some sort of timeline on the pain and healing. How long does it hurt? When does your heart heal? When does the pain go away? When do you stop missing him? I was desperate for some sort of answer. Some sort of time frame. Some sort of solution to this hurting hell...to this pain. It was then Libby gave me the best advice on hurt and grieving.
The first thing she answered was how could it hurt so much? She lovingly explain the more special someone is…the more it hurts. So the more you are hurting the more special your dad was to you. The amount of pain you are feeling is a tribute to how special he was. If he wasn’t so special it wouldn’t hurt so badly. So embrace the pain as an honor to him.
Okay…so now I understood the “honor” of the pain but how long does it hurt? Her surprise answer devastated me at first. She told me it hurts forever. It never stops hurting. At first I was so discouraged by her answer but then immediately relieved because she made me realize you don’t have to worry about getting over it…because you don’t get over it. You don’t have to be concerned about when you will stop crying, or stop missing him or stop wishing he was still here for just one more day. Because you will always cry, you will always miss him and you will always wish for just one more day…one more smile…one more talk…one more hug. All of a sudden the energy shifted from trying to make it better or wondering when it would be better…to just letting it be. Don’t waste energy and worry on trying to make it better. Her best advice was just let it hurt. It’s supposed to hurt. It’s that simple.
So over the years I have come to realize the pain of losing someone you love is like a parent worrying about a child. The worry changes as a child grows…but it is always there…some days more than others. Same for the pain of losing someone. The pain changes through the years but it is always there…some days more than others.
The cruel twist of fate is Libby died a few years after that. One of my best friends and kindred spirits died of breast cancer and left a wonderful husband and three beautiful little kids to grieve. She was diagnosed in February, 1987, the same week Joey was diagnosed with CF. We spent the summer talking about treatments and medicine and healing. She told me in her sweet southern drawl “I just have a feeling that Joey is going to be alright. I think he is going to beat this.” I had a feeling Libby was going to be all right too...but she wasn’t. On September 30, 1987, she asked if she could be done fighting and went home to her Jesus that she loved so much.
Joey was in the hospital that night and he fell asleep early. I was lonely in that hospital room with a sleeping child and no TV on. So around 9 p.m. that night I was going to call Libby in her hospital in Kentucky and tell her that I was in the hospital too. I thought that might make her laugh. But then I realized she would worry about Joey being in the hospital so I decided against the call. Turns out it was 9 p.m. that night when she died. The time I would have made the phone call is the time God called her home. God gave me one last kindred spirit moment with her that connected our hearts.
Pat took me to her funeral in Kentucky and as I sat there in that church I wondered what to do with all this pain and how I would ever get over her. Then I remembered her wise and loving words. The more special they are…the more it hurts. And don’t worry about getting past the pain. You don’t. It’s supposed to hurt. So let it hurt. Just let it hurt.
Her advice was simple. Her impression…profound.
Post script: Thank you, Libby for being so wise. You were right on many accounts:
Joey is all right. He did beat it. How did you know back then? (I have a feeling you had a talk with God about this.) By the way, Scooter beat it too.
And you were so special it hurt so much to lose you. But don’t worry…I didn’t waste a lot of worry and energy trying to get through the pain. I just let it hurt. Still.