Girlhood Friends Forever

Girlhood friendships are a special thing. They leave an indelible mark on your personality, and memories that last forever.

Luanne was one of two "best friends" I had growing up in Williams Bay, Wisconsin. When I wasn't best friends with her, I was best friends with Sally. When I wasn't best friends with Sally, I was best friends with Luanne. And sometimes when I got them both mad at me, they were best friends with each other, and I was in the dog house.

And so it goes with girlhood friends. We learn from each other. Things like loyalty. Humility. How to kiss a boy by "practicing" on the back of your hand.

I have so many memories of Luanne, woven into the fabric of my adolescent years. The overnights at her house, playing records, and her trying to teach me how to harmonize. (Mr. Postman by The Beatle's was one of her favorite songs.) One morning after spending the night at her house we awoke to find two matching lime green purses hanging from the posts at the end of her double bed that her mother had bought for us. Like sisters, we proudly wore our matching shoulder purses everyday - colorful symbols of our special connection with each other.

Luanne would often invite me along when she went to visit her father on Sundays and we would play in the attic above her dad's garage. Some mornings when she'd spend the night at my house, we'd walk along the shore path of Lake Geneva to watch the sunrise. On one such early morning walk to Conference Point we sat along the shore and watched the sun come up over the water and debated the existence of God. She said to me, "How could anyone not believe in God when you see all this this majesty?"

Even at age 13, Luanne was a deep thinker. And being the daughter of an English teacher, she knew some pretty nifty words, too. Something else I liked about her.

We wrote poems together. We did school projects together. We practiced cheers together. We babysat my younger sisters together. We snuck cigarettes together. We agonized over boys together. Made prank phone calls to them together. But mostly, we laughed together. One of the qualities that drew me to Luanne was her lightening-quick wit. One day when Sally and Luanne were both at my house, Sally called the Delavan roller rink trying to reach a boy she had a crush on. She was put on hold. "I'm getting Harry! I'm getting Harry!" Sally said excitedly.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Luanne deadpanned with her deep, dramatic voice without looking up.

Just as we were beginning high school, I moved away. The day before I left, Luanne's mother handed me a tiny wooden angel and a stuffed Koala bear to remember them by. She then told me that she hoped I would choose writing as a career because she thought I had a special talent. Without those parting words, I doubt if I'd be writing these words about her only daughter, her only child, today.

` Tragically, during her high school years, both of Luanne's parents passed away. It was perhaps due to these unbearable losses in her young life that Luanne turned to alcohol and drugs to fill the void - crutches that would grow to imprison her, alienate her from her friends, and ultimately play a part her untimely death.

After high school, when Sally got married, Luanne and I stood up in her wedding. And when I had my first baby, Luanne drove up to Michigan to visit me. And several years later, when I moved back down from Michigan after a divorce, Luanne and Sally came by one night and took me out to dinner to welcome me back home.

But, as often does with girlhood friendships, Luanne and I chose different paths and ultimately drifted apart. I hadn't seen Luanne in almost 20 years when I got the call that she passed away on December 15^th.

Luanne had a good heart. And a big heart.

Someone once said, "You might not remember a person's name, but you'll always remember how they made you feel."

When I remember Luanne, I will remember a girlhood friend forever.