photo Friendship by PicassoA Friend Comes Alongside

I met Judi at a weekday Mass in 1996. She stayed after Mass to pray, but accidentally overheard my whispered conversation in a nearby pew. Someone asked me about my newly diagnosed breast cancer. Before leaving, Judi approached me. With a lilting Hungarian accent, she inquired, "Are you the one with the breast cancer?" I answered yes, still getting used to the idea. Judi introduced herself as someone who had fought the disease years earlier. She simply wanted to show me the face of someone who survived this disease. It was a God-sent moment. Judi became hope incarnate to me.

I was 36 with a husband and three children, ages 3, 6, and 9. Judi had one 11-year-old, and three grown children. With grace, and good doctors, I would deal with the cancer, but my fears tore me up inside. Would I be there to raise my three children? Judi gave me my first lessons in dealing with my own mortality. She had fought her disease so she could finish bringing up her youngest. That was my goal too. Her spirit was formidable; I took note of her good counsel.

Sometimes friendships blossom where we least expect them -- like in foxholes. That echoes my relationship with Judi. I was in a battle, but lacked experience. As a cancer veteran, Judi helped me adjust my armor while pointing out weapons to fight my fear. She spoke about her own suffering and struggles with faith, what it means to deal with utter darkness and then choose to reach for the light. Walking me through that minefield, Judi was a one-woman support group and mentor rolled into one.

Months went by. My treatment and recovery period yielded an excellent prognosis. Conversations with Judi changed from cancer to other subjects. We had Christ and cancer in common, but slowly found more.

We both loved to write. I marveled at Judi's prose and poetry, as English was her second language. Over the years, the busyness of family life and my job kept my writing sporadic at best. But she, ever the mentor, encouraged me to keep writing. Watching her still learning, still trying to perfect her craft, made me contemplate what things I might write when my children were older.

We both loved the water, on the beach or on a boat. We managed many lunch dates through the years, often ending up by the ocean. Judi loved to sail, finding tranquility on the waves. She often dreamed of moving to a coastal town.

We both loved books, often exchanging them as gifts. There was always a new title to recommend. Most of all, we loved the scriptures, delighting to share our favorite verses.

A Friend Stays in Touch

We kept in touch even though our lives were in different orbits. She, the mature one, with grown children and grandchildren, and I, trying to maintain sanity as my children hurtled toward adolescence. Through it all, there was an unspoken understanding that we were there for each other. We were prayer buddies. We'd see each other at Mass, extending warm hugs and hellos. We sent email and cards, catching each other up. Our conversations were always in the present, not dwelling on our cancer pasts.

Judi always put her family first. I admired this. Family was what she talked most about. She was well-connected to her adult children, and they were truly devoted to her. Her youngest son, the boy that she prayed to see into manhood, is now halfway through college. Her three older children made her a grandmother eight times over, and she cherished this legacy. Having lived many places in Europe and North America, her home was her refuge, filled with books and classical music and where her mother tongue was spoken. Here you found her most content with her children gathered around.