My friend died. I cried. I don’t cry often and honestly don’t recall the last time tears came. But my friend died, and the only response was to shed some tears.

 

Technically, she worked for me. I was her boss, and she was my administrative assistant. She was, however, much more than an assistant. She was a friend and confidant. She often lamented her lack of a college degree, but what she lacked in formal education she more than compensated for in logical reasoning and intellectual insightfulness. I know I learned a great deal from her during long conversations covering a wide range of topics from politics to theology. She had a fiery wit and did not suffer fools well. A gifted writer and editor, she often made me feel woefully inadequate when I offered her something I had composed and asked her to edit. I was especially proud of an article I had written until she took it apart. It was a couple of days before I took another shot at it. Her suggestions, however, were spot on, and it was a much better piece because of her critique.

 

Her life had been difficult and in terms of the world’s goods she had little. But she possessed an inquisitive mind, a keen intellect, and genuine compassion. The last time I saw her she was terminally ill, head shaved, and little energy, trying to hang on to fleeting hope.

 

“What can I do for you,” I lamely asked. “Will you pray for me?” I took her hand and tried to find some words to express hope and peace. Leaving the hospital, it was clear that I would never see her alive again.

 

I am a better person for having known her. She was the type of person who challenged you by her life experiences and resilience to be the best person you can be. I pray that when my life comes to an end, I will be remembered like my friend Rhonda as someone who made a difference.

 

Thank you.