Farewell to a friend

This blog post isn't really about writing. Well, it is and it isn't.

Just over one week ago, a very close friend of mine -- Maureen -- died from breast cancer. We knew it was coming. When she was diagnosed in December 2023, the doctors said it was a case of keeping the disease at bay for as long as possible. A cure wasn't an option.

Maureen was on two different meds over the next year, but also endured some hard surgeries. By the time the spring of 2025 rolled around, the immunotherapy options had ceased to be effective. The doctor's said her last line of treatment was traditional chemo. Maureen declined to do it.

She said if it wasn't going to cure her, she didn't want her last months to be even sicker than she already was. I'll be honest, I hated that decision but I also respected it, because it was her life and her decision to make.

The doctor said if she declined chemo she probably had about six months left, give or take a little, depending on how aggressively the cancer progressed.

Over the past few weeks she'd been declining more rapidly but she didn't really advertise it to many of her friends. I don't know if she didn't want to worry us or scare us, or if I just didn't want to face the truth.

It was very early in the morning when I got the call telling me she'd passed. And even though I knew we were probably looking at weeks rather than months, I was still surprised. I really believed we still had a little more time. When Maureen and I last spoke, and it was only over text, I'd let her know that I was going to see her today. She was planning on having a tea party to celebrate 40 years of being sober. And I let her know that I was also going to come spend the evening with her next Saturday, after my cousin's bridal shower.

During that future visit, I was going to surprise her and bring some pieces of my new manuscript with me and read them to her. I had told her that I would name one of my characters after her in this story, which she seemed quite tickled by. One of my characters has a cat, and that cat is named "Mosey" which was her nickname.

But I never got the chance to share that with her, or give her details about "a cat named Mosey" (which she would have loved because she loved her own cats). I am both sad and angry about it. We should have had more time. She should have been able to laugh about her fictional namesake. And she should have been able to read my draft.

And that is where the writing part comes in. Maureen was a "founding member" of my feedback squad - a small group of friends who I often share drafts with looking for feedback. They're all pretty good at balancing boosting me up when I feel inadequate or untalented... but they're also good at pointing out the stuff that doesn't make sense or doesn't sound authentic in my writing. They have never once failed to offer good advice.

That's something I think every writer should have. Friends you can share your lumpy, bumpy and frankly awful early drafts with. Friends who will tell you what they think, good and bad. Friends who remind you that -- as Maureen often said -- that it is about progress, not perfection.

My squad is a little smaller now, and I do truly wish Maureen could have read this rough draft when it is finished. I know she would say she loved it, and then follow that up with something like "but in this section you might want to think about..."

Do you have a feedback squad of friends? Make sure you tell them how much you appreciate them, and what a difference they make to you as a writer. Appreciate the time you have with them because it can all change in an instant.

I know Maureen will be around and will keep an eye on her author friend, but I will miss her laugh, her insights, her oh-so-very-Virgo tendencies, and her friendship.

I hope you are at peace, my friend. I hope you know how much you are loved and how much you will be missed. The book of your life was an epic one.

The flower picture is from Hailey Wagner via Unsplash. I don't know who took the picture of Maureen, but it is one of my favorites of her.