Hand-built clay sculpture, Hecate, by Tammy Vitale of Tam’s Originals

Britannica Online says: "(from Greek hekate, “she who works her will”), goddess accepted at an early date into Greek religion but probably derived from the Carians in southwest Asia Minor. In Hesiod she is the daughter of the Titan Perses and the nymph Asteria and has power over heaven, earth, and sea; hence, she bestows wealth and all the blessings of daily life. "

This is one of the statues I gifted to my longest friend, Linda (affectionately called GayGay since she has the southern double name of Linda Gay that was always used).  We have known each other for 56 years.  We are both 58.  She is 4 months older although I always say 6.  And she always corrects me.

When we were 10 or 11, we performed a ritual I saw on some tv show (even in the 50s, when it was new, it was powerful.  Who knew?).  To seal our friendship, we became blood sisters.  We cut our fingers, rubbed our blood together and buried treasures in honor of the communion.  Rituals are strong even when you don’t know what you’re doing.  Over 40 years later and a continent apart (she in California, I in Maryland) for more than 25 of those years, we still remain tied at the heart, mind and soul levels.

In this day and age of everyone moving everywhere everytime you turn around, this type of friendship is magic.  Usually, nowadays, a friendship of this sort is formed in college, 16 – 18 years later than when ours began by the fluke of living next door to each other in a new subdivision where our families moved in 1950.  We grew up in a neighborhood of many other playmates and parents who would call your mom if you did something wrong or mean.  It wasn’t all fiction – they really did exist.  We could play outside from early morning to past dark, exploring the fields, woods and streams around the house – and no one worried if we might be or had been snatched.  At Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Sparks gathered the children together, did a fast rehersal of carols with Mr. Sparks leading – he sang in a barbershop quartet, and went out caroling at two blocks of neighborhood houses.  My favorite was always "Oh Come All Ye Faithful."  Afterwards, we would go back to the Sparks’ house, have hot chocolate and decorate candles with glitter and confettis shapes.

Linda was the oldest in a family of 5, I an only adopted child.  Santa Claus always brought us the same bikes and the same dolls.  When we were teens, I collected her out of her bedroom window to go joy riding in my parents’ car late one night.  When she thought she was pregnant and unmarried at 18, I went downtown with her to the doctors.  That month she wasn’t.  I got her drunk on sloe gin to celebrate, the first of maybe 5 times she’s been drunk in her life.  Several months later, she was pregnant.  I was the one she told first.  I was the one who heard about what went on in that marriage.  And who saw some things that went on when she didn’t.  She was the one who consoled me the first time my first husband hit me.  I am godmother to her first born son. 

When I turned 50, it occurred to me that there are things in life that are priority.  Among them was deciding to go to North Carolina to visit Linda on her yearly trips to this coast.  Most of her family is now in North Carolina.  Although we always talked on the phone, and later on email (although it was like pulling teeth to get her on it), seeing in person is very very good.  So for 7 of the past 8 years I went to North Carolina.  Once she came here first for some time together and then we drove there together.  Last year, she didn’t come to the coast but flew me to California for my birthday on her husband’s free miles.  We spent a week of adventure together that was pretty marvelous and also hilarious….there were times I had a picture of us as little old ladies doing things like driving windy mountain roads we hadn’t planned on, totally freaked out, lost and squeeling like teenagers.

This year she was to come to the coast in June.  My calendar has the days marked out to go visit.  Instead, her massage therapist noted a lump in her abdomen area and said:  go see about this.  On May 16, Linda went in for an ultrasound.  She had a mass the size of a cantaloupe.  They did blood work, inconclusive, and scheduled the surgery for May 23.  By then they said it was the size of a bowling ball.  Yesterday, I talked with her brother.  I had learned via flying emails that she was not going home on Friday (26th) but the following Tuesday.  I did not know why.  I finally caught up with Bill, who told me that the masses were cancerous, that the doctors aren’t sure what kind yet – whether the kind that comes all out at once or if she will need chemo.  I called her last night because Bill said she was awake and coherent.  She says the mass was by then the size of a basketball…that things have taken "a turn for the worse."  Still she seemed in good, if drugged, spirits. That’s my GayGay.

I have cleared my calendar.  Before the surgery, I sent a care package that included toy whistles – "If you need me, whistle" I said.  I am listening.