Facebook can be a fun way to reconnect with people you once knew. Elementary school classmates or random friends from college, it can be neat to find out what people are up to, and say hello or catch up without the pressure of trying to get together or force a conversation. You find out who got engaged, who had kids, and maybe any variety of information you didn’t really want to know.

And then, sometimes, you get bad news. Last night was one of those nights. My friend Kim passed away yesterday. Apparently last weekend she thought she had tendonitis. Tuesday she was feeling fine. Wednesday she was in the hospital in a coma, bleeding in her brain, and a sudden diagnosis of late-stage leukemia. Friday they turned off life support. She is and will be terribly missed. She had just turned 30 years old.

Kim and I were good friends in high school. She was smart and good at a great many things, but spent a lot of time in the theater. I remember her tap-dancing in a production of Anything Goes when we were sophomores. We were in choir together and took voice lessons together. I sang backup for her when we did “I Feel Pretty” at a voice recital. I was always self-conscious performing in front of people, but she hammed it right up and was awesome. With a January birthday, she was the first of my friends to get her driver’s license. She drove a beat up old brown minivan that had stick-on tinting inside the windows. It hadn’t been put on very well, so there were lots of bubbles in the adhesive. Nevertheless, we drove all over the place, whether to the beach in the summer, or to go see Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind. We were so cool, driving all the way downtown for a late-night show.

Despite ending up at the same college, Kim and I fell into different circles and drifted apart the way people do. We were always happy to see each other, but didn’t go out of our way to hang out. After college, she lived in Chicago and I moved out to Boston. I haven’t seen her in years. And yet, through the magic of the internet, we found each other on Facebook. She knew I had kids, I knew she was stage managing in Chicago. I wondered if I might run into her one of these days when I was visiting home. I never did.

I know these kinds of things happen to real people, but it’s still shocking when it happens to someone you know. I guess the only small consolation for those who knew her is that she never had to know about her leukemia diagnosis. She didn’t have to be afraid or deal with painful treatments. I’m beside myself when I think of her parents, her brother, her boyfriend. I can’t even begin to fathom their sorrow. It’s just not fair. They shouldn’t have to know what this feels like. Kim should be off to rehearsal this week, as always.

Words are so inadequate, but it’s all I’ve got. Kimmy, I’m so sorry you’re gone. I can only hope all of the good memories are some small comfort to your family.

Tags: death, Facebook

This entry was posted on Saturday, February 16th, 2008 at 5:08 pm and is filed under Just me. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.