Back when I believed my life would never get started, my mother told me I'd reach the day when time would move so quickly past me that I'd not be able to catch up. I didn't think she could possibly know what she was talking about. How could she ever relate to my young life, my old mom? If she were still alive I'd have so many more questions to ask. But she's not and I'm on my own - wishing I could hear her tell me she told me so.
It seems like yesterday, as an example, that she had us out there on the Little League Football field, practicing dance moves and high kicks. Since she was one of the founders of Corpus Christi's original Little League Football organization, and was on the board, she made sure the sport was truly a family affair. The boys got the spotlight during the game, but the girls stole the show at halftime - and that was before others let girls have anything to do with Little League football. We were all part of the team. The Bears. Orange and black anomalies.
If Pete was eight, and I think he was, I must have been 10 or 11. That's the first time I met her. Gwenn's brother, Joey, was on the team with my brother. My dad was the coach. My mom was the head cheerleader.
Gwenn and I couldn't have been more different. I was pretty big for my age; she was pretty small. I was somewhat sheepish; she was a rebel. I was always afraid of doing something wrong; she just went after what she wanted. She was my best friend. I wanted to be just like her. Maybe that's what led to the graduation day fiasco.
May, 1972. We made it, after all. The clock was moving toward time for us to be downtown, slipping into our graduation gowns, lining up for the procession. I got to drive the convertible - big time! Our 1965 Corvair convertible was total coolness. Red body, black interior, not a blemish on her. I drove over to Gwenn's house and, sure enough, she wasn't ready. I don't remember Gwenn ever being ready. That was one of her many endearing qualities.
So there we were on a beautiful spring afternoon, cruising down the coastline - late - heading to the event we knew would bring a happy ending to years of frustration. Now, we thought, we could finally begin our lives. The trip there was fun, if not a little nerve-racking. Of course, that seemed to be how all trips were with Gwenn. There was just something about her, a sense of freedom that had always eluded me. I believe we were the last two to arrive. Even the other latecomers had arrived before us. Not a problem. We wouldn't have to wait around as long as everyone else. Since we would be lined up alphabetically by last name, she headed toward the front of the mass (C) as I found my way to my spot toward the middle back (P).
Imagine my surprise - and horror - when, after throwing on my gown, it turned out to be six inches too short. We had each taken the wrong gown. Of course Gwenn's gown didn't look nearly as bad on me as my enormous gown looked on her petite frame. With seconds to spare, we traded gowns and she took her place as the alphabetically-organized throng began its way down the hall and into the coliseum amidst familiar strains of Pomp and Circumstance.
I was Gwenn's Matron of Honor. She is my firstborn's Godmother. And we've only seen each other twice in the past 30 years.
Often, through the years, I've thought about Gwenn and wondered how she was fairing in the second part of her life. I longed to tell her about mine. In the first months of this year, however, my curiosity turned into more of a nagging in the pit of my stomach. Finally, the second week of March, I decided to find her. Thank goodness for the internet. I Googled her married name......and there it was. Sure enough, Google had found her within seconds. But I felt my heart literally stop beating when I read the newspaper article. It was an obituary - not hers, her son's.
"Cpl. Scott Alexander McIntosh, 26, born February 4, 1982 in Humble, TX passed away March 10th, 2008 while serving his country in the US Army in Iraq."
Not one thing could have prepared me for the news. I still have no idea how I'm supposed to react. I serve on the board of Christmas for OUR Troops and was one of the many organizers of last year's Troop Salute. I volunteer for Hunt for Heroes and my husband, Scott, is one of the sponsors. We pray nightly for those who are unselfishly sacrificing their lives for our freedom. I have other friends whose sons are serving, or have served in this war. But Gwenn's son? How could Gwenn's son have been taken from her?
Time has stopped. I can't seem to shake the feeling that we're back at graduation day, peeking over the edge of a cliff into which we were eagerly prepared to jump. I left Gwenn a message, but I haven't been able to talk to her yet. Her mom and I have emailed back and forth, but I haven't talked to Gwenn. When I do what will I say? "Thank you, Gwenn, for bringing up a son who loved his country enough to die for her." Is that what I'll say? I don't think so. "Gwenn, I know there's nothing I can say......" That just doesn't compare to how I feel. There's nothing I can say that could come close to letting her know I share the agony she must feel. At least a tiny part of it.
I don't often have the inclination to want to go back in time. Overall, I'm happy with the person I've become. Today I'm a lot more like the Gwenn of my memory. I don't know what she's like, probably the same as she always was. I hope so. Yet, I wish I could go back to simpler days. I wish I could go back to graduation day, put my arm around her, and assure her that no matter what turns her life takes I'll be there for her......and then make it happen.
I know Gwenn will survive - even if she doesn't want to, right now. She has a wonderful husband with whom, I hear, she is still deeply in love after 31 years of marriage. She has another son, Eric, with whom I'm sure she is equally in love. Life will go on. Who can stop it? I just pray that Gwenn's free spirit will be able to soar above the pain long enough to realize she's loved......even by people she hasn't seen in years. She holds an indelible place in my heart, as Scott will always hold an indelible place in hers.
My prayer for Gwenn is the blessing she gave me before the birth of my son: "May you and your child sit on suns of Gold, and laugh at the world together, and in Peace." So it was with you and Scott, Gwenn, and so it will be again.
