It's become too cliche to say that this is happening far too often.
Saying good bye to friends, I've oftne been told, is something we can expect when we reach a certain age and especially if we've lived in the same community throughout our lifetimes.
I don't know what the actual age when this is supposed to happen with frequency, but I do know that I'm beginning to see the phenomenon our elders warned us to expect.
This week alone my mind has reflected on four people who have passed on and whom I've known forever, it seems.
I fully expected to attend my longtime friend Mae McCormick's celebration of life yesterday but had no idea until mid-morning that I'd be going to a gathering honoring the memory of everybody's friend Peg who passed away Thursday due to complications from ALS.
In both cases, these people had found their way into my heart and had never left.
I met Mae in the early 1970s when she served as the study hall monitor at Sandpoint High School.
We became instant friends. I thought of her as a fun sidekick and even sometimes as an older sister.
My main story to share with an audience involved a lunchtime conversation, more specifically my whining, in the home ec room at Sandpoint High School.
I guess I'd whined enough for a few days about my frustrations with teaching. It was probably my first year when this interchange took place.
Soon after my whining had begun that day, Mae looked me straight in the face and said, "Why don't you resign?"
The comment hit me between the eyes, and I shut up, determined never to to whine at lunchtime again.
It was a significant story for a day like yesterday because Mae was a trooper like no other.
She dealt with a number of life-challenging medical ailments during her last years of life and NEVER did she whine.
Mae was always determined to get better, and she truly fought the good fight.
I needed her comment that day so long ago, and it definitely called my bluff when appropriate. I'm sure the whining continued off and on over the years but probably with a lot more discretion.
Mae's celebration was beautiful just as she was. Her niece Megan from Nashville sang. Sandpoint's Beth Pederson sang. Family members shared thoughts about Mae and presented a beautiful video.
Mae was a great friend to many, including myself, and I've always appreciated the fact that her friendship inspired another long connection with her daughter Julie.
Meanwhile, Peg Sullivan's friendship story really begins when her mother and my mother were both residents at The Bridge for Assisted Living.
I knew Peggy, a local nurse, from past associations, and sharing our experiences dealing with aging moms united us.
Later, the trips to Ireland and meeting other Sullivan-Fuqua family members built the bond.
Peg often shared her Irish experiences and perspectives with me.
Because we all met her cousin Patrick in Ireland, we got to feeling like the Sullivans or O'Sullivans, as Peg preferred it, were almost like family.
Yesterday's afternoon gathering at MickDuff's Beer Hall brought out a host of Peg O'Sullivan fans, many of whom also feel like family. Maybe it's an Irish thing.
Peg's daughters Hailey and Stephanie led a toast in her memory.
It was a wonderful gathering.
Both events honored to great friends and genuine contributors to our Sandpoint tapestry.
As with far too many these days, these women will be greatly missed, but they will continue to inspire in spirit.
In Mae's and Peggy's memory, play the video below as you scroll.
At Mae's celebration there were two Sharon McCormick's, so it seemed appropriate to take their picture.
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