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The Goddess Speaks
AS I prepare for my 20th high school reunion, I am excited by the idea of seeing people I have not seen in 20 years. I am curious to know how their lives have changed. Are they the same or different? Will the snooty cheerleader be a snooty adult? Will the shy computer geek be a dot.com millionaire? But my emotions are mixed because my vivid memories all include a friend named Dawn whom I have known since kindergarten -- 33 of my 38 years -- and Dawn cannot be there. She is dying of pancreatic cancer. Precious present
of childhood palMy earliest images of Dawn are of a girl with long, dark brown hair, thick eyelashes and long legs. She was a natural leader, perhaps because she was one of the tallest girls in the class, or because she exuded confidence, treating challenges with nonchalance.
We first met in Wilcox Hall, where Punahou School placed its three kindergarten classrooms. Dawn usually wore pretty patent leather shoes with white lace socks, while I slapped around in slippers. In the first grade, we suffered an unrequited crush on the same boy.
We clunked through adolescence like most teens, spending our free time at the beach, in string-crocheted bikinis. We shared the pain of our parents' separations when we were both 15. The families we knew and loved were changing forever, but at least we could count on each other as friends.
After college, we lost touch with one another. I lived on the mainland, while she was in Hawaii raising her own family. But like friends who have known each other for a lifetime, we always managed to renew our ties.
WHEN I heard from another friend that Dawn had cancer, I cried like a child who'd lost the stuffed animal she slept with since birth. I cried like a child. Dawn was no longer a part of my daily life, but our connection transcends routine. I never told Dawn I loved her until she got sick. Yet I always have.
Weeks ago, the doctors at the hospital in Houston where Dawn was seeking a radical form of cancer treatment told her there was nothing more they could do. Now, she and her husband and their two young sons grapple with uncertainty. Her doctors predict she'll be gone within the next three months.
When I talked to Dawn over the telephone, we cried. She said she was scared. She said she doesn't expect people will know what to say to her because she wouldn't know what to say to someone in her condition either. She has lost so much weight that her voice sounds hollow.
She had wanted to travel back to Hawaii from Houston with another friend for the reunion. But she is too weak.
The reunion committee established a fund in her children's names. And at the reunion, classmates will write mahalo-grams and make donations to benefit Dawn's sons, gathering these good wishes in a box for her.
I am trying to understand a reason for Dawn's illness, though it seems impossible to comprehend. Perhaps God has chosen Dawn as a way to send those of us who are lucky enough to attend high school reunions a message. And that message is to not take the daily routines and small events in life for granted, to let go of past hurts, to hold on to people we love, and to forgive people who make mistakes.
We should live life fully and be grateful for each day. We should be thankful for time with loved ones, and try not to fret over insignificant issues. Each day is a gift.
Cathy Lee Chong is director of communications at Iolani School.
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