Hope springs eternal

Me and Andrea in 1989 with my kitten, Mojo. (photo by Dr. Jere Colley)

Last Tuesday marked the fifth anniversary of the worst day of my life. On June 3, 2003 my best friend from high school, Andrea Bridges Carpenter, was killed instantly in a car wreck. She was six months pregnant with a baby girl to be named Lydia Ruth, after her paternal grandmother. It is a day that I will never forget and one I don't like reflecting on at all, but also refuse to ignore. Andrea wouldn't want me to get weighed down with missing her and waxing sentimental for too long, but I do and I always will. She made a permanent mark on my soul and I will never forget her and will grieve the absence of her and the baby girl I never got to hold or know for the rest of my life. I'm left with no choice in this matter. You can't judge it until you've been there.

On the flip side of this sadness, I have felt Andrea's presence twice now on the anniversary of her death which gives me faith in what lies ahead and that not all of life's mysteries can be predicted, explained or over-analyzed on talking heads cable news shows.

One year after Andrea died, my beloved and shared Great Dane Andi was officially cured of cancer and the word came Auburn University almost to the minute that Andrea died. Andi was given three more years of a great life before she died of heat failure at 10, very common in large breeds like the Great Dane. Those three years were cherished because K and I knew how close a call we'd had.

Five years to the day she died last week, my sister and I facilitated the rescued of a an exceptionally wonderful homeless cat, a common hobby of Andrea's throughout her life, and I took her down to Montevallo where I predict and pray that she'll have a fantastic life with Clare, who now has a huge lot on a safe street. Her name is Clementine and she's a orange cream tabby with white knee boots in the back. Clare says she looks like Barbara Hershey and has given her the smooth operator official name of Clementine Jones, but we both agree that she also looks like Andrea who had a cute little cat face her whole life.

Another bizarre coincidence was that Andrea died while I was working three feet away from another designer named Dave Todd who a few months before had lost one of his best friends the same way. My then next door neighbor and good friend lost her first husband tragically and she was a huge source of comfort to me as she had been through major grief. Her maiden name is Todd and Andrea's widower is named Todd. The threads of coincidence in numbers and words sure can be strange, but extremely comforting all the same.

Andrea and I as Auburn High School sophomores said when we grew up we'd open a cat ranch where all the strays could go and be loved and in some way I feel like I'm fulfilling that fantastic, adolescent dream. I will never forget Andrea and her devotion to animals, the way she always championed the underdog and celebration everything that makes life worthy.

If I'm lucky, we'll still have our cat ranch someday.




Clementine Jones checks out the Clare's Montevallo home and wilderness center, a much safer scenario than Southside Birmingham. (photo by me)