Your morning thought for the day:
Every parting gives a foretaste of death,
every reunion a hint of the resurrection.
-- Arthur Schopenhauer
We haven't heard from our friend, Corrina Hyde, in years. We
remember well the day we met her at our Heartwarmers convention in
the year 2000. She was one of our celebrated speakers that day.
Today, she shares a bittersweet story on what brought her class
closer together. Thank you, Corrina -- we are so happy you are doing
well.
Tell us if you still communicate with your high school friends.
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Who Needs To Hear From You Today?
SPECIAL KAREN
by Corrina Jayne Hyde
Simply Karen and I grew up in a little country community.
Most of my classmates and I went to school together from the
time we were in Kindergarten. Like all seniors in high school,
before and after us, we all promised to keep in touch. We did for a
while, and then real life got in the way. We all at some point moved
off and moved on.
Everyone but Karen. Karen was our "special" classmate.
Yes, the term used today implies that she was slow, simple and
unable to keep up with us. But when we said special we meant just
that -- she was special! She didn't have a mean bone in her body and
she was completely devoted to us. That earned her our respect, love
and protection.
After graduation, Karen remained at home with her parents. Her
mom died, and she helped her dad with their produce business.
Through all of her comings and goings in the town we all outgrew, she
would see our families and ask about us. Sometimes she talked to
family members that we weren't even talking to ourselves. It didn't
matter to her that they seemed hesitant to confide, or be overly
negative -- she wanted to know, so she asked.
Because of her curiosity, she had a wealth of information,
useful and not so useful, about the class of 1979.
The few times I talked to her over the years, she would fill me
in on everyone, and then pump me for the little details that made my
life uniquely mine. Karen found out I was back "home" and started to
call. Most of the time I wouldn't talk to her, because I wasn't
talking to anyone.
But sometimes, for reasons unknown to me, I would answer the
phone and just listen to her. She talked about the most mundane
things. Where she had eaten, a yard sale she went to, what she
bought. She didn't care that I had nothing to say -- my occasional
breathing on the other end was enough for her. She would catch me up
on everyone and ask me questions I couldn't answer. Then she would
just say goodbye, while assuring me she would call again.
In my darkness her light started penetrating. I started to look
forward to her calls. I started to participate in them. I came out
of my room and stepped back into life.
Then I got too busy to talk to her. Months went by. I heard
from people in the community that she was sick. They said she had
cancer. Guilt ridden, I called her and finally made the time to
speak with her.
We talked for some time. She was so happy that I had actually
reconnected with her. She never mentioned being sick. We made plans
to go out for pizza the next Monday night. She wanted to invite
another classmate of ours that she kept in touch with, Sally. At the
end of that call she said, "I love you, Cory." My mind registered a
goodbye.
I picked Karen up and was unprepared for what I saw. She was
skeletal. I knew then it was serious. After dinner that night,
Sally and I talked and we both felt an urgency. We wanted to get all
of the classmates that we could find locally together and have a
class reunion. Neither of us felt that Karen would make it until
2009.
What happened next was short of amazing.
People we had not seen or talked to for almost 28 years were
found with ease. We had phone numbers, addresses, everything we
needed. We set it for two weeks away and I started making all the
arrangements. No one was more excited than Karen. The "reunion" was
at her funeral a few days later -- just 5 days away from the one we
had planned.
This past May, the class of 1979 met once again for our 30th
class reunion. In the year and a half since her death, something
amazing had taken place. The contact we made with each other to
rally for her, continued after she died. We made a connection, we
kept in touch.
Our class reunion felt more like a family reunion. And there is
nothing simple about that!
-- Corrina Jayne Hyde <moi_cory at yahoo.com>
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Cory is from Atoka, Oklahoma. She says, "I'm working my dream job at
the University in Durant."
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