Here’s a better photo of Lake Mayfield.

K’den, last time I told you I’ll tell you a story about Lake Mayfield. So here goes, even though I’m pretty choked up writing this post.

My beloved friend Carol and her family own a cabin at the lake. Every autumn Carol and her hubby would drive to the cabin and from there go to Tahoma, or drive around many places in that beautiful area. Last summer, before she had to go on hospice, she talked about how she wanted to go to Mayfield Lake again, and up to Tahoma; she loved autumn colors and talked to me a lot about trips they’d taken up in the area over the years. She talked about swimming and boating on the lake; her eyes shone as she described all her happy hours there, and I lived vicariously through her adventures. Sadly, my special friend died in August, and she never got to make those road trips last year.

Shortly after she died, when my grief was so sharp and painful, I decided to have something custom made that would honor our friendship. When it arrived, I made a point (and still do) to wear it every week to The Gathering, that special group of women who’ve been meeting together weekly for about 25 years now. And when Nolemana and I headed up to Leavenworth, I wore it, feeling like I was taking Carol along with me, knowing how much she would have loved to take the trip, too.

As we drove along Highway 12, I had absolutely no idea that we’d be passing by Mayfield Lake, and when I suddenly spotted the sign saying that it was on our right, I got big time chicken skin. It was Carol’s lake!!! She’d told me about it so many times, telling me of her joy being there, and now, there it was! I got very teary, seeing “her” lake, missing her, wishing she could be there with us. I touched my wrist, and was oh, so happy, that I’d thought to wear my special memory of her on this trip.

The Hawaiian word for “cherished friend” is “hoaloha”. Carol was, and always will be, a cherished friend. I carry her in my heart and on my wrist. I wear this whenever I’m really missing her, which is most of the time. It’s part of my grieving process, and I’m so grateful for Carol’s presence in my life for the twenty-one years that we had together.