JULY 1997- MARIETTA, GA
The summer after 4th grade is coming to an end,
and I am enjoying a typical afternoon at the neighborhood pool with friends.
Still the shy and reserved version of my childhood self, it isn't often that I
reach out to people I don’t know. The neighborhood kids and I are swimming to
the deep end to play a game of shark, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Hello,” I hear her soft English voice as I turn around. “My
name is Emma. I’ve only just moved here, but I wonder if you’d mind if I join
your game?”
In such a simple moment, our inseparable friendship begins. From attending
early morning band practice to mapping the neighborhood on our quest for the
ultimate trick-or-treating; from sleepovers to science projects, we are partners
in crime. We become the definition of best friends.
The end of my 9th grade year I receive terrible
news. Emma’s parents have decided to separate, and she will be moving back to
England to live with her mother. Devastated at the thought that I will no
longer have her down the street, I am comforted in knowing that my family had
been discussing a move to Texas. We'd likely relocate in the next year, so her news only costs us a few months.
The years pass, and our friendship continues to grow despite
the distance. I visit Emma in England and Atlanta, and she comes to Dallas.
Between visits we have regular phone calls, and it’s as if nothing has changed
at all. Until the day it did.
DECEMBER 2006- SOUTHLAKE, TEXAS
I am half way through my shift at Starbucks, when I see a
familiar car in the parking lot. It is my mom and brother. They walk somberly
toward the door. They come inside and tell me they need to talk right away.
“What is going on?” I say, “I can’t just walk away from the
counter.”
One of my coworkers pulls me aside. “It’s ok, go with them.”
My heart is racing as I walk to the car, but nothing can
prepare me for what I am about to hear.
“Trish, Emma's dad just called. Emma’s been in a terrible
accident.” My mom says, struggling to maintain her composure. My ears continue
to absorb her words, but my heart already understands the truth. Emma is dead.
The next few weeks are some of the hardest of my life. I am
caught in a tornado of grief, sorrow, and anger as I prepare to travel to
England for our final goodbye. Emma’s funeral comes and goes, and my mom and I
begin our journey home in the days before Christmas.
 |
Emma Louise Jobson
January 28, 1988 – December 3, 2006
|
“Did I ever tell you what Emma’s mom said to me before they
moved away?” My mom asks as we fly back to the States.
“What is that?” I say, grasping to every memory of her life
that I possibly can.
“The day they left for the airport, Sarah turned to me,” she
says with a pause, “’Don’t worry about the girls’ she said, ‘they’ll be friends
until the end.’”
“I knew from the beginning that was true.” I reply.
For some time after her death, I
turn to my cell phone on the days I need her most. Pausing the world, I listen
to the last message she’d ever leave me.
“Hello, it’s Emma, I
thought while I was in America I’d call you for a cheap chat…” it begins.
She goes on to say what a great time she is having with her Dad, and how she’d
be around the house for the afternoon if I could call her back.
Even in the simplest of messages, her voice is a comfort to me. It reminds me that I am both honored and blessed to have had such a wonderful companion through these
seasons of my life. Together we traveled through the end of childhood, into
our teenage years, and began our lives as young adults. Emma was a
compassionate, loyal, and relentless source of support in my life. She will always
be one of my most beloved friends.
Years pass, and I no longer have the voice mail saved. But the memory of her hello will stick with me the same as it did in 1997: forever.
 |
| Emma and I - December 2004 |
The Arrow and the Song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
-Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow
