Diana

 

DIANA

There are unforgettable dates etched on my heart,
calendar tattoos stir memories of powerless reality.
May 16th, Diana in the hospital—liver complications.
I am afraid for my lifelong kind and feisty friend.
She feels confused. Everyone wears covid masks, looking like Wild West bank bandits ready to rob.

The important thing is to find solutions for wellness.
She needs a second opinion and maybe even a third.
I called the nurses’ desk. Diana enjoys being outside or sitting in the hallway, waving at passersby. Even being ill, she is charming nurses with her sweetness.
I heard she wants to escape. That may be a good sign.

I talked to Diana on the phone, her voice soft and weak.
I will send cards every day instead of calling her at rehab.
I asked if she was being treated well, she whispered, “Yes.”
I’m sure getting cards is better for her than talking to me.
She will be having a new diagnosis to become stronger.
This mystery should get solved to begin healing wellness.

Saturday, June 18th I drove to the new hospital to see her.
I had my Google instructions, but followed “H” for hospital sign off the freeway to Puyallup, arriving at the wrong “H.”
Diana would think it was funny—“Goofy old April got lost.”
Lost, but not ready to give up, a kindhearted older man led the way to the right hospital—clearly an Angel guide.

Arriving at the hospital, I had a lifetime of memories.
The nurse entered the room, and I said, “When Diana was little, on sleepovers, she twisted her hair around her finger and rubbed her feet together until falling asleep—always active. If she does that, it will be a good sign.”
Rubbing her arm, I kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

Saturday, June 25th, a group email declared Diana had passed away Friday night after a six-week illness.

I know Diana loved to find pennies on her walks,
surely, she sang the tune “Pennies from Heaven.”
When I see a penny on the path of my day, I will
pick it up and sing a heavenly duet with Diana.

April Ryan is a Seattle resident with a lifetime of memories that she is willing to share with us —even the most treasured of those.

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