Remembering Kim

Death has been a significant part of my life since I was five years old. It is as familiar as the scars upon my knees and legs. Thoughts of how and why things occurred or happened have faded, but if given careful consideration, I am engulfed, flooded, drowned in memories as murky as river bottoms. The mental scars I carry today make it seemingly impossible to form healthy relationships. As I learned early, starting with the death of my mother, everyone dies. None of my primary caretakers are alive. I am grateful that I have my fathers (biological and step) and while I did not grow up in the same household with them, they were and continue to be instrumental in my life today. I have friends who have never had a death in their immediate family. I am envious of them.
I was especially reminded of my own pain, especially the loss of my mother, when I received a phone call explaining that a former co-worker and friend had died suddenly, without explanation. She left three beautiful children, two daughters, who are in high school and a son in middle school.
Kim and I met while working together in Dallas. She was a fiery young woman, who had strong opinions about anything and everything. We shared the love of debate, questioning unrealistic reasoning/expectations, getting our way, and the first syllable of our names. Our boss, at the time, often referred to her as Kimberley and me, Kim. Funny thing is, my name is Kimberley, her's Kim.
Kim and I met early in our careers, but were on different rungs of the ladder, and our choices took us along different paths. We often kept in touch with one another by phone, thru others, and there were a few occasions when we were actually able to see one another. She returned to the facility I worked at briefly, yet we parted ways again. I, moving to Austin and she moving on to a better career opportunity. And as life goes, we eventually lost touch.
On a business trip to Dallas, I was able to see her, and two of the guys who worked with us. It was great. It started with a conversation regarding difficulty working with other sisters in the workplace, particularity government entities, being strong willed, and not losing self in order to be successful. It moved to dinner, and we, along with two brothers who we used to work with, talked about old times, reminisced, laughed at each other and with one another. Whole heartedly, they way old friends do. This would be the last time I was to see her. As, again, life did what it does best. Go on. And I am left to wonder, "what could I have done differently?" How many people who play such a significant part of my life would I lose touch with, allow them to fade into obscurity. I joked with an acquaintance recently that I have friends that I don't have to speak to daily, but I know that we will always be friends. Selfishly, I hope she knew that she was a friend. And that I apologize for not keeping in touch. For not knowing your daughters well enough to comfortably tell them that you were a wonderful woman, and not be viewed as some stranger offering condolences. To tell them that when they were younger, you worked hard to obtain your degree to make a better life for them. To explain to them how important they were and that you fought every schedule rotation to ensure that you had Sundays off to go to church and have those special Sunday meals with them. But mostly, I would want to tell them that I know what it's like to live without a mother, and to stress the importance in carrying you in their heart, words and deeds. I would do that as your friend, and as a one motherless daughter to another.
Kim D. Hill. Rest in Peace.