Rosie and I became acquainted when I was sixteen and looking for pen pals from our church. She was a rebellious fourteen-year-old who actually got along better in person with my also rebellious thirteen-year-old sister the first time we met. But we shared a love of writing long letters and discussing anything and everything. As she matured we became closer, and the few times we met, we talked way into the night. And, as always, the letters flew fast and furious.

Then life happened. I graduated from high school and moved halfway across the country and went out into the real world. Then I got nailed with a five-year bout with clinical depression and stopped writing letters. Rosie never gave up on me. She kept writing. She got married and moved from coast to coast and had one beautiful son who seems to be just as much a character as his mother. I met her one time shortly after she was married, and we had a great visit for an afternoon. I treasure the picture her husband snapped of us. That was the last time I ever saw Rosie. In one of her letters she told me she had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and she was in treatment, and it had a high cure rate. Well, it turned out to be Hodgkin’s disease. She battled it for years, and still wrote occasionally, even though I seldom wrote back.

I made it through my depression and got back on my feet, and then in 1996 my only brother drowned. I decided I had lived 1800 miles from home for too long, and it was time to move back. I moved back and started college at age 34. And I got a computer. And Rosie got a computer. And we started e-mailing, and then Instant Messaging. Rosie had gone through six months of hell with chemo for only six months of remission, and had decided to go holistic. She no longer had the stamina to write letters, but she could be on the computer. For two years we exchanged lengthy e-mails and chatted late into the night, sometimes all night long. It would start with one of us asking a leading question or suggesting a topic, and would go on from there. One night in particular I will never forget. The discussion started with angels and went on to speculating about what heaven is like. Then she asked me what it was like losing my brother, because she wanted to know how best to prepare her family. I told her the only thing she could do was try to make sure that they had no regrets. I sat alone at my computer in the middle of the night, typing to her while tears ran down my face as I talked about how losing my brother had affected our family and she told me what she was doing to prepare her young son. She said she thought it was kind of "neat" to have a life-threatening illness and speculate about how her death would affect her family! "Only you would think having cancer was neat!" I typed back, laughing through my tears.

We only had a few more long talks after that night. Rosie began coming online less and less as the cancer began to take its toll. For the last six months she only sent occasional short e-mails, augmented by her sister’s e-mailed updates on her condition. Finally, last October, her sister called to tell me she had died in her sleep. I will always thank God for the blessing of having known Rosie. I have been blessed with other dear friends, but no one person can replace another; each one of them is unique. I still think of all the years I was barely in contact with her. If I could do things over, I’d like to think I would have found a way to remain in touch. But since I can’t do things over, I thank God that He permitted us to get back in touch during her last years. A true friend is one of God’s greatest blessings. If he has granted you one, do whatever it takes to nourish the friendship. You will never regret it.

B.J. 11/30/00