Regrets

For the past few weeks, I've been thinking often of my favorite Anne. I met Anne when I was a missionary in Strasbourg. We were "teaching" her. I put that in quotes because I think I learned more from her than she ever did from me. I remember seeing the light in her eyes when the Gospel "clicked" for her. When she got it and wanted so badly to be baptized. She came to church, she prayed the most humble and sincere prayers I'd ever heard. She loved us with every ounce of her soul and we loved her. She had some lingering (and honestly completely unnecessary) guilt for a choice she made while living in Africa and didn't feel worthy of baptism. She said she needed more preparation and we respected that. She didn't get baptized while I was there, but I felt deeply that I was called to the mission I was because I needed her. Or she needed me. Or something, but SHE was the reason I went there. The last time I saw her, before I was transferred out of Strasbourg, I gave her my CTR ring and told her I loved her. Her plans were to move to the States to go to school in Minnesota--she was a very educated woman, but France didn't recognize her African degree.  I didn't really keep in touch with her for the rest of my mission, but when I came home and moved to Utah she called me one night. I was so excited to talk to her! She was working on her Master's degree and working hard, like she did with everything else in her life. Her son was enrolled in highschool in California, I think, although he would later join her in Minnesota. That was in the summer of 2001 and it was the last time I talked to her. I don't even know if I remembered to invite her to my wedding.
Friday I just got the strongest impression that I needed to find her. To find out how she was doing--if she finished school and where she went after? Back to France? Back to Africa? How are her children? Her pretty daughter who wanted to be a chef--who cooked us fried plantains that I choked down while Anne laughed that giant laugh that filled the room. What about her son? She was so worried that he was already headed down a scary road and he was so young--I thought he was great because he obligingly let me rub the back of his head, which I loved! I searched online and couldn't find anything about her, but DID find her 2 kids. I found her son on Facebook and sent him a message asking if he was, in fact, Anne's son and if so how is she doing? Where is she? He responded the next day with news that ripped my heart out. He said he WAS Anne's son. She died in 2002 of liver cancer and that it's really "a long tragic story." I still don't know that story, although I feel like I need to. What I do know is that since I read that I have been beating  myself up for not keeping in touch with her. Why did it take me EIGHT YEARS to find out this wonderful woman is actually gone? There's no reason for that. No reason at all. I hate this about our culture and I hate that I'm so guilty of it. As a missionary, the people with whom I became close often lamented that they become such good friends with missionaries who say they'll keep in touch after they're home but they never do. We get home and get busy and more and more time goes by when we realize it's been so long, they probably don't remember us. After all, quite often missionaries become a blur of names and faces. But she was My Anne. And she called me. Knowing what I know, she was probably sick when she called me. She probably knew. I don't even remember what we talked about, I just remember how elated I was to hear her voice and that wonderful accent.  I'm sure I got her phone number, why didn't I use it? Why didn't I call her? I could beat myself up forever about this but I can't. Mostly because she would be furious if she knew how angry I am at myself. Anne would understand and she would love and even if she WERE still here and I DID call her today, I wouldn't be a blurry memory. I would be her "Soeur" and she would want to know everything about my life now and we would talk like it hadn't been more than a minute since we'd seen each other.
My point is this: I am choosing to live my life with less regrets. The people I love WILL know that I love them. I am spending the next 2 weeks sending cards to people with whom I've lost touch. I still have a bunch of addresses from my mission and if those people are still there, they will hear from me.  There is one last favor I can do for Anne. The reason, I believe, why I've felt so prompted to find her. I can only hope for her family's love and blessing and I cannot wait to see her big smile and to feel her hug me again. Until then, say it with me Steph--cancer sucks.