My Anne

Welcome to Monday, dear reader. You may have noticed the silence on our end last week. Last week was a rough one for our family. We had to say an unexpected goodbye to my dear, sweet friend, Monica Schmidt Wheeler. This is a loss I was not prepared for and have not yet fully processed. Allow me to share the story of my wonderful friendship with the sweetest, gentlest, kindest soul I have encountered in my fifty-three years. 

Monica and I met in high school. We met because of boys. I dated a Homer City boy, and Monica was a Homer City girl. You all know how high school girls can be. It was no different for me than it is for my bean now. Girls are unfriendly, judgmental, snarky, rude, and sometimes blatantly unkind. The first time I met Monica was during my junior year in high school. I attended Homer City's prom on the Gateway Clipper. I was having an issue with the zipper of my dress and went into the restroom. I was alone, with no friends and nobody to help me. As I stood before the mirror, wiggling and trying to adjust the zipper of my dress, Monica came out of a bathroom stall. She washed her hands and stared at me in the mirror. I fully anticipated she would walk out and tell everyone how weird I was wiggling around in my dress in front of the mirror. 

To my surprise, she calmly walked over to me and asked, "Do you need some help?" I told her I did, and she nonchalantly zippered my dress and hooked the little eye hook at the top. She then turned me around, straightened my dress, pulled my hair over my shoulder, and said, "There you go! You look beautiful." I smiled and thanked her as she walked out. To this day, over thirty years later, I still remember what she looked like at her junior prom. She wore a pink dress with a navy blue lace overlay. Her mom had made her dress for her, and she looked like a princess with her hair up and in tight curls. She was beautiful inside and out. After that interaction, she always smiled and said hello when I saw her at sports functions or around town. When we attended the same parties, she always made a point of seeking me out, including me in her conversations, and introducing me to her friends. Now, that seems like common courtesy, but for high school girls, that was extraordinarily kind. 

When I began college, I was two years older than all my classmates. Once again, I felt like a fish out of water. I got a job at Mack Data Center, where many Homer City kids were employed. Monica worked in the same office as me, and we soon became the best of friends. We met because of boys, bonded over break-ups with those boys, and have maintained a lifelong friendship because Monica declared we were "kindred spirits." Monica and I shared a love for Anne of Green Gables; she appreciated my love of all things literary and old-fashioned. When we discovered we had both read Anne of Green Gables multiple times and loved the PBS show (how nerdy are we?), she proclaimed she was my Anne because her middle name is Anne, and I am her Diana, because I had dark hair and was well-dressed. Monica's reasoning for things always made me laugh. They often made no sense in anyone else's world. However, being Monica's Diana was one of my favorite roles in my life. We often said our goodbyes or ended our messages with the simple phrase, Kindred Spirits Forever. 

When Monica got married, I was her bridesmaid. I was the only bridesmaid who wasn't a relation. By the time I got married at thirty, I knew no one wanted to be a bridesmaid, so I didn't have a wedding party. Actually, we got married so quickly that we had to do it on a Friday night, with just our immediate family in attendance. When we adopted Jordan, Monica was one of the first people I called to tell about our daughter. I was cautious about who I told because we were fearful it would not work out. After allowing me to share my news, Monica tentatively told me she was pregnant with her now son, Brock. Monica and I both shared fertility issues and struggles building our families. It was just one more thing we bonded over. 

Our lives got busy with children and jobs, and I lived an hour and a half away, but we were the kind of friends who could go weeks, even months, without talking and pick up where we had left off. Monica was the most nonjudgmental person I have met. She had this inane ability to meet people where they were in their lives and accept them, never making them feel judged or less than. She was kind, gracious, giving to a fault, generous in spirit, and effervescent. Monica and her twin sister, Marie, can turn the most mundane task into an experience. There is never a dull moment when you are with the Schmidt twins. 

We went to the Witches Brigade in Ligonier for my fiftieth birthday. I sent Eric a message that read, "After only a half hour with the Schmidt twins, I am drunk!" Marie still laughs about that. The holiday parties, the birthdays, the campfires, and the family dinners all created a beautiful life of memories. When things fell apart with my immediate family, it was Monica who made sure my family and I had a place to go on the holidays. She made sure I wasn't sad and always made me feel included. She took us in and made us family. That is kindness that can never be repaid. 

Monica loved the rain, and she loved looking at the stars. The memory of one of the last bonfires I attended with her will forever stand out. It was the end of the night, and things were dying down. Mon had had a bit too much to drink and was lying on the ground beside the fire ring. She patted the ground and told me to lie down beside her. Of course, I did. She grabbed my hand and murmured, "Kindred spirits." She then pointed out the North Star, which was to the southeast, and a satellite. I said, "I think that's a satellite, buddy." She said, "No, it's the North Star, the same one Baby Jesus followed." I giggled and said, "Okay." We just lay there holding hands, looking at the stars, until Monica fell asleep. 

Although she got the direction wrong all the time, and I'm pretty sure Baby Jesus didn't follow the North Star, my friend's faith was some of the strongest I have witnessed. Even in our twenties, when everyone we knew was acting like idiots, Monica's faith stood out. No matter how hard she had partied on Saturday night, she was up and at Mass on Sunday morning. She had a quiet faith that she wasn't afraid to talk about or share. Her belief that God was in control, was good, and was holding us all in his palms was steadfast. Some of our longest and most meaningful conversations were about faith, religion, and God. Her faith always impressed me. 

She carried her faith into her career. Monica was a nurse for 31 years, and she gave not only top-notch care but also herself. She was not the kind of nurse to leave her patients' pain and needs behind. She carried them with her throughout her life. Her body was showing signs of wear after 31 years on the floor. I often asked her why she didn't take a desk job so that it would be easier on her body. Her response was always the same: "My patients and fellow nurses come first. I will never leave them." She advocated for her patients as if they were family. Her fellow nurses turned out in droves for her viewing. She was given a nurse's send-off at her funeral, which is very similar to a military send-off. It was beautiful and so moving. The nurses who did the send-off were moved to tears. That speaks volumes for the kind of nurse my beautiful friend was. 

Her funeral was so beautiful. It was a funeral deserving of such a beautiful person. She would have been so very proud of her sister, Marie, her daughter, Erica, her husband, Len, and her nieces, who put so much into planning the perfect day. There is a stained glass alcove in the church where her service was held. I pictured Monica standing there, pain-free, in all her beautiful glory, watching us and beaming. She would have loved everything about the day. 

Now that the funeral is over, we are left to settle into the quiet of grief. This is the difficult part, figuring out how to move on without those we love. Grief makes me angry. I have no patience, no tolerance, and no time for nonsense when I am grieving. I have apologized multiple times to The Bibbed Wonder and The Bean for my overall mood. They have been gentle and patient with me. I find myself questioning the reasoning for taking Monica, of all people. When the world is filled with child molesters, drug dealers, animal abusers, and murderers, why, my friend? Why take away a loving mom, wife, sister, friend, nurse? Why take her when she was such a light in this world? Why take her so young, and with so little warning? So, yes, it makes me angry. 

I'm not angry with God anymore. I was, initially. Now, I am just angry we all have to live without her. Of course, God needs her because she is so good. It just hurts so much for those of us left behind. However, I see signs of Monica everywhere. I swear she comes to me through the radio. Every time I get in my car, a song plays that reminds me of her. Eric and her son Brock went to Rural Kind on Saturday. The lady from Smicksburg who has a big cockatiel was there. The same cockatiel that Monica laughed so hard over meeting and got her picture taken with a few years ago. I turned on Netflix after a week without watching it, and guess what is on my suggested watch list, Anne with an E. Is it a coincidence? Maybe. However, I choose to believe my Anne is coming through to me, so I find comfort and know she is with us. 

Looking back over the last year, I see God at work. I have known Erica and Brock their whole lives, but I never considered myself particularly close to either of them. This past fall, when we needed help for our fall event, Erica popped into my head out of nowhere. She has been helping out ever since, and we have grown very close. I believe God was bringing us together in preparation for this life-changing event. The Universe knew we would need each other. That brings me a bit of comfort. 

My circle is so very small. I keep it tight and close, being careful who I let in. If you are part of my circle, know I feel that we were brought together for a reason. I consider my circle the best kind of family, the chosen kind. We can't control what we were born into; however, those we surround ourselves with are our kindred spirits, our soul family. I know my Anne is keeping watch. I feel her with me. I see her in her children and her twin sister. I hear her whispering encouragement when waves of grief wash over me. I hear her whooping and hollering when she's happy about something I have done. She's not gone, she's just around the corner waiting. Rest, my sweet Anne. When your Diana arrives, oh, the fun we will have. I know you will be one of the first in line waiting for me, and, as always, you will make my path easier by introducing me to Jesus and the angels, because I am too shy and socially awkward to do it myself. 

Until then, I have no one to invite me to holiday events. I have no one to point out inaccurate constellations and give me misinformation about Baby Jesus and the star he followed. I have no one whooping and hollering in my ear like we are on the TV show Jersey Shore. I am a Diana without her Anne. My kindred spirit has gone ahead without me. I am left with wonderful memories, titillating stories from our youth, and two young adults I now view as my own. 

As said so eloquently by Anne Shirley, "And I will always love thee, (Diana)....In the years to come, thy memory will shine like a star over my lonely life."