Patti

If we are lucky, we have special friendships during our lives. Today I lost a dear friend. I am flooded with memories of snowshoe hikes, car rides and the companion standing by my side who would squeeze my hand when my son emerged through the fog at the top of an alarmingly steep precipice. I did the same for her. Patti and I first met as ski racing moms. The more we waited patiently on icy slopes, the more we realized that we shared a lot. With husbands who have loved us for decades, we each mothered three children. We vented about careless teenagers, unwashed dishes, piles of smelly work out clothes and our kids’ friends who spent too many nights sleeping in our spare beds. Yet through it all, we knew how fortunate we were. We were happy that we were able to provide cozy homes and enjoyed taking care of the kids. I had my regular spot in the Cambridge Chronicle and she had her decorating business, but we were content making a pot of stew or baking a batch of cookies. We thought it was an adventure to have two feet of freshly fallen snow at our doorsteps and extra bodies sitting around our dining tables.

I think of last December when my husband, David and I had dinner with Patti and her husband, Chris. We toasted the holidays and her doctor's exuberant news that her tumor was shrinking. I try to erase from my mind the image of how thin she had become. Her scarves and silk jackets camouflaged her struggle. She always had her sparkly, eye-popping smile and her sense of style. “Chris has been so loving,” she whispered.

Next weekend when the ski team congregates for Patti’s memorial service, some of them will stay at our house. It feels strange that I can’t review the cast of characters with her or the provisions needed to stock the kitchen. It is one of the things that she and I liked to do best, watching out for our own and other people’s children.