My Summer Sister

It is weird to see your closest friend after 12 years of not speaking. I see her freckles that have seemed to multiply and that her beautiful red hair had darkened a bit, but her voice has that same sweet melodic sound I always remembered. See Michele and I aren’t ordinary friends. We are summer sisters. We have had our first kisses together (though apart). We fought over who would marry Tom Cruise after seeing Top Gun together. We experimented with fuchsia lipstick and big bangs. We made crank calls together and at the same time shared our life long dreams.

I could start at the beginning, but that would be a book and not a blog. So I will start at the scariest moment. It occurred about one week after my favorite memory. Michele and I had gone to the beach early. Labor Day was still a few days off and the beach was quiet and had that perfect combination of a warm sun mixed with a cool breeze. She wanted to draw (her talent) and I wanted to write (mine). As usual my A.D.D kicked in. So I took out my “Click” camera and snapped a picture of my summer sister. We never took a lot of pictures. I think we fell into a pattern. The next memorial day—we knew we would be together again. I still have that picture. Michele staring pensively at the ocean, sketch book and pencil in hand.

I was fourteen years old and a scared high school freshman when I was pulled out of the first day of classes. My mother sat in the principal’s office; her eyes were swollen from tears. “There has been an accident,” she said. My first thought was my father. He was a Philadelphia Fire Fighter and had not returned from work by the time I left for school. I froze. “It’s Michele and Sandy (Michele’s mom), “she went on. “Sandy is going to be okay, but Michele.. They don’t think…” my mom started to sob. “We have to get back down the shore right away.”

To this day I cannot remember my reaction to this news. I think I went numb from shock. The whole day had been out of sorts. I had walked to school with friends from my grammar school. I was so proud to finally be wearing a high school uniform, but so scared once we had all separated. I drifted along to the strange sounds of clanging lockers and shrilling bells. My biggest worry was if I would survive high school at all. Looking back there was no way I could have known that there would be much bigger things to worry about.

The next thing I remember is sitting in my family car. Somewhere along the way my cousin Maryann and Aunt Bernadette had joined us. Maryann was leaning against the window next to me. I could hear her crying. My aunt and my mom were making nervous chatter in the front seat. All I could do was pray. “Please Dear God, help Michele. Please Dear God, help Michele.”

We pulled into Shore Memorial Hospital and were greeted by Michele’s brother Wayne. Wayne is older and I had always looked up to him. He always seemed so more mature than us, yet was always so kind to his baby sister and her very awkward friend. His voice and hands were shaking. I sensed how bad this was. I tried to prepare myself to see my dearest friend.

Nothing could prepare me. There were tubes everywhere. I looked for some resemblance of Michele, but even her freckles were lost in the severe bruising that seemed to have taken over her face. And her hair, her beautiful red hair had been shaved. I would not find out until later that her hair had been shaved in order to re-attach her ear or that she had died at least two times and was brought back to life. I heard words like “we may have to airlift her to Philly. The guy who hit them was drunk. They were just going to pick dad up from work.” Then the scariest word I have heard in all my 14 years of life “coma”.

“Wake up Michele,” I pleaded inwardly. “Wake up and we can go to the beach or just sit around and talk, but please just wake up.”

The rest of the day and many days that passed were a blur. Michele did wake up, but there were a lot of problems to overcome. The accident had not only hurt her internal organs, but also damaged her back and she was looking at many long months of rehabilitation and therapy. All during the year that was supposed to be her first year of high school as well.

One day right before the hospital transferred her to Hahnemann Hospital in Philadelphia; she even played a little joke on me and my cousin Maryann. She held her breath so the breathing monitor would show she wasn’t breathing. When we stared to fret, she released her breath and managed a little chuckle. “Gotcha,” she said. It was the first glimpse I got of my summer sister. The first time that somehow I knew everything would be okay.

The years after the accident brought many changes. Michele and her family moved to California for a couple of years in order to provide a milder climate for her to recuperate in and when they moved back we didn’t miss a beat. I was honored at nineteen to be in her bridal party and even more honored to sit at her baby shower just a year later.

Then as time tends to do, we drifted apart. I thought about her all the time and even ran into her once at the shore and got a chance to see her second son. Then through the miracle of social networking we are back in touch again. I was there to help ease the pain of her divorce. She was there to celebrate my second marriage with me. Now we speak daily and I had the wonderful chance to hang out with her and my summer family just three days ago.

Oh and the weirdness of our first meeting in all those years? It lasted about five minutes and we were out talking until 1 am! A good friend recently pointed out to me that true friends will always fall back in step with each other no matter how much time has passed (thank you Linda).

See, Michele taught me a lot in our young life. Since I slept at her house so often, I could not walk away when things got tough. We had to work through issues and learn to apologize. She taught me mortality. Most teens of my age did not even think about dying. I knew how fragile life is -- even at 14. Most of all Michele taught me that nothing is impossible. If my petite little friend could fight, against the odds mind you, for her life and turn into a happy and healthy, not to mention beautiful person – well I really do not have an excuse to ever give up. This one is for you Michele. Thank you for being in my life.