When the first signs of spring appear, she has entered my thoughts for the past six years now. We became friends on our first day as teachers at a new school. She was blonde, bubbly, "no bigger than a minute." As country as they come, she grew up in Red Boiling Springs, Macon County, Tennessee. Only a year apart in age, we bonded almost instantly and became acclimated to our new surroundings together. We loved to get together and talk over the happenings of the school day and gossip about our new co-workers. She had the life I longed for--a lovely home, a devoted husband, and an adorable little boy named Jake.
She had the life I longed for that is until it was discovered that Marcie had cancer. One of the things that Marcie and I had in common was that we were both worry warts. Marcie was so scared yet so brave. She was always having the doctors and their nurses check her for signs that the cancer had spread or returned. She carried on though with her playful, self-deprecating sense of humor, trying on different wigs after her hair fell out, getting the larger bra size she always wanted after her double mastectomy. She continued as the school's computer teacher that year, completing the school yearbook that she was in charge of compiling.
That summer we celebrated. Marcie was going to be fine. I introduced Marcie to my favorite restaurants of which there are quite a few. We would go shopping. I remember we went for a walk out at Radnor Lake. We would ride in her red Jeep Cherokee and sometimes Jake, who was three or four would say, "Mama hold hand," and Marcie would reach back for his hand while she was driving with the other one. We had such a fun time that summer that Marcie bought us shirts that said, "Summer of '04."
A new school year began, and we started back to work with the reluctance that teachers, like students, feel at the end of the summer. It wasn't but a couple of months into the school year when it became apparent that something wasn't right with Marcie. Her back hurt. Was it that old injury she had from the time her tiny frame had to carry Jake on an icy road when the car broke down? "No, Marcie. The doctors all said you were fine. I'm sure the cancer hasn't returned," we all reassured her. And yet, not too long after Christmas it was discovered that the unthinkable had happened. The cancer had returned, and it had spread to her liver or her pancreas, which organ I do not recall for sure. I didn't know what to say then and still don't know what to say now. I was so stunned by this news. "I'm never going to see my little boy grow up," Marcie cried on the phone to me. I cried with her. "I'm so sorry, Marcie. So sorry."
Always a fighter Marcie was soon strong again. She was going to try alternative therapies. Her trust in God was always strong and now it was unwavering. God was going to see her through this. She went to Tijuana, Mexico to receive alternative treatments.
On a Sunday afternoon in April a co-worker called me to let me know that my friend had passed away. Where she went I have no doubt. The angels in heaven made fast friends with a lovely lady full of fun that day. Why she went I will never know, at least not until my own time has come. I sure do miss her though, and I find myself thinking of her from time to time all year round but especially when springtime comes.
