When you lose a friend

I have grieved the death of people I loved. I did not know what it would feel like to lose a friend. Unlike previous generations who lost loved ones and friends in wars or who lost siblings to devastating illness, I was spared that experience. The death of a peer has a nuance that is hard to describe. Because that person knows, understands and accepts you in their own way, it feels like a chunk of you dies with them.

Rugged individualism, touted as a way to be in the world, is a myth. We are all connected, and everything and everyone is connected to this beautiful, fragile earth we inhabit.

Like it or not, we are held in a web of relationships that help us know who we are. The passing of a close friend tears a hole in that web.

The first time I lost a close friend was when my friend Susan La Barge Ryan died of cancer in 2020. We met within weeks of my moving here in 2012. We both attended a meet-and-greet for a nonprofit that helps women. We went around making introductions. She later told me she made a mental note that she did not want to be friends with me because I was a retired minister from New Jersey. Fate had other plans.

Not a week later, we ran into each other at a Saturday evening Art Walk and the rest was history. We bonded over our love of art. Susan was very good at talking to anyone and drawing them out. She had a personality and joie de vivre larger than her small size. We were quite different, but formed a strong bond of mutual respect and care. While she was gregarious, she did not easily trust others with her vulnerability. I was honored to be a recipient of that trust. In turn, she helped me get acquainted with the island and helped this newly retired pastor have some much-needed fun.

Over the years, we rented art studio space together. She was part of the original formation of Shady Ladies Art Studios and Gallery. She underwent treatments for cancer but the disease relentlessly progressed until it took her life during the pandemic in the fall of 2020. My web of relationships was already stretched thin and was further torn by her passing. It hit me hard.

Just this past week, I had to say goodbye to another friend and artist from Shady Ladies Art Studios and Gallery, Andrea Mateer. I knew of Andrea as a valued member of the art community but I did not know her that well personally until she and her husband John moved their art studios into the current location of our art space at 819 S. Eighth St. Andrea moved in first and set up her studio neatly in a way Mary Libby and I envied. The three of us bonded over our love of color and composition. Andrea was skilled in several media. While Mary favors more subdued hues in watercolor, Andrea’s work blazes off her canvases in bright hues generously applied in oil or acrylic. I fall somewhere in between.

Andrea had a wry sense of humor that she applied as liberally as her paints. As we shared our life stories, we got to know how she carved out her career in the male world of CSX.

She had a sense of style all her own, which complemented her natural beauty. She was always “put together” and wore her beautiful things gracefully. We also worried over each other when illness or injury occurred. Andrea was falling more frequently and Mary and I were quite concerned. She went to doctors and had various therapies.

Sharing art space can be an intimate experience if you let others in. She would say honestly, “I don’t usually like other women, but I like you two.” We shared what we were working on and gave honest feedback including, “Step away from the painting.” We also shared anecdotes about our families and their personal triumphs and struggles.

Just four weeks ago, Andrea took a catastrophic fall backward onto a cement sidewalk, bashing the back of her head. EMS was quick to respond and our local ER glued her together enough to be lifeflighted to downtown Jacksonville. Because she was on blood thinners, she was in danger.

She succumbed to her injuries on November 8 after fighting to survive for three weeks. There is really no way to describe the strain of the last few weeks as one sends one’s energy to another to live. I can say the neurology team and ICU care she received was top notch.

My web of relationships is once again in need of repair as is that of all those who loved Andrea.

This advice is often repeated, but it’s true. Tend to your web of relationships. Tell others of your care, concern and love. If something is broken, fix it. Don’t live with anger or regret.

If you catch the bright colors of the aurora borealis at night as it dips further south than normal, join me in thanking Andrea for painting the skies.