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The news broke in an email:  “We did it. We sold the house. Escrow closes June 1^st.” 

My neighbors never put up a “For Sale” sign.  Ron and Dianne said they didn’t want to make a fuss.  But when they leave, my heart and so many memories will follow. 

No one knows who among our friends will endure with us through the years, standing alongside us in both good times and bad.  In our case, with Ron and Dianne, there were plenty of good times.  Ron, handsome and thoughtful, is positively stoic compared to his wife, Dianne.  She is a wild card. You never knew when you came through their door exactly what you’d find. Just ask her grown children who returned home once to a roaring party where they ended up pressed up against the living room bar to make space for their mom who was leading a conga line.  Ron and Dianne love great wine, a good sunset, and a constant fire on the barbeque.  But over the years, what they truly loved….was us. 

Back in 1998, the evening they moved in, Dianne leaned over her third story balcony, her ash blonde hair blowing in the wind and boldly hollered at us, “Hi! Can I join you?”  From those five simple words, a perfect friendship was born.

When Ron and Dianne first learned Will was diagnosed with cancer, they never let me see them cry, although I learned later there were plenty of tears for us.  Instead, they were an integral part of a tight knit circle of friends that made sure every sunset was celebrated with a glass of Merlot, Will’s favorite. When the doctor warned us that Will needed to gain more muscle mass to fight off the ill-effects of chemo, Dianne would stand on her balcony, mercilessly egging him on as he huffed and puffed up the hill, fighting off the fatigue of cancer treatment, a proud papa working out by pushing his baby girl in a stroller packed with food, diapers, toys and clothes.

“C’mon you lazy-ass! Whadya waiting for!” Dianne would tease.  Will would stop, wipe the sweat from his forehead and smile before forging on, as if he were pushing the weight of the world.  Only now, he was doing it with a smile. 

There were many other friends who rallied to our side after Will's cancer diagnosis.  And yes, there were some who stopped calling, stopped inquiring about us as it became clear Will was not going to make it.  It was too much for them, too sad.  On the other hand, Ron and Dianne never pitied us, never treated our prognosis with anything but optimism that was just sunny enough to be hopeful but not patronizing.  It was the right balance that enabled Dianne to be both positive but pragmatic one day when she put her arm around me in a rare contemplative moment when Will and the baby were napping, to say, “You know we will always be here for you.”

And they were.

Ron and Dianne made their college-aged daughter available to babysit Chloe the summer after Will died so I could spend time sifting through the boxes that held ten years of marital memories. They were the first to encourage me to start dating, the first to introduce me to investors to start a business, the first to welcome Mike, who would become my new husband, to our close circle of friends and neighbors.

And now they are the first among our core group of friends to move off our little seaside street.

I would like them to know, and I can tell them for certain that because of all the bitter sweet moments we shared, our bond will not be broken by distance and our changing lives. 

How enduring is the shared experience of the loss of someone you loved? If every great story has a beginning, middle and end, then where does this move off our street, out of our town, fit in to that story structure? 

I look at our picturesque street and the ocean beyond and think about the pull of the ocean tide. There is a certain peace and satisfaction I get when I see such a powerful force of nature. When the tide is out, you see the evidence of life underneath the depths of water, the rocks and bits of broken shells and among them, there’s that one perfect shell glimmering in the sun. Do you ever wonder how it’s possible that it survived intact despite the years of winter storms?  Perhaps that shell is like friendships honed over the years? 

When Ron and Dianne pack up and leave our street, I will think about how the good times fortified us for the bad times, and how the bad times taught us how to be the best of friends.

And I will miss them.

Former CNN anchor, Carol Lin is the mother of one daughter and the co-founder of TulaHealth.  She is a regular ShareWIK.com contributor.  Visit her on the web at CarolLinReporting.com.

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