Once she asked me, “Do you believe in angels?” I responded, “I believe in you.”
Heather could have been my student. Instead she chose to be my friend. Over the course of twenty-three years we have created memories defined by color, sound and scent. During London semester in spring 1994, we shared lunches of wine and cheese on the steps of La Basilique du Sacre Coeur and enjoyed pasta with crusty bread at a small Italian restaurant we discovered near St. Martin-in-the-Field. On Saturdays we browsed Portobello Market in Notting Hill and on Sundays, after services at Cathedral Saint Paul, we explored the booths at Covent Garden and drank foamy cappuccino. Jazz concerts at the Royal Festival Hall on Southbank were only rivaled by the lone saxophonist playing underground at Piccadilly Circus.
Crosby Drive memories include picking daffodils from the Lackey woods in the moonlight, drinking KJ by the fire, and scrambling until after midnight to meet the deadline for my first book. When Heather decided to have a child as a single parent, I admired her courage. Mia was created in Heather’s own image, a joyous and spirited child with a strong sense of self and determination. She is also a budding artist who shares our love for jazz and is a sweet big sister to Hayden, Heather and Trent's precious son.
When I lost Larry in early 2013, Heather gave me Anne Lamott’s book, Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, published the previous year. Lamott writes about her gratitude for the beauty of friends and for the marvel of experiences and journeys shared. Her work resonate with me. Heather has and continues to be a “wow” in my life. “Heather’s Mia” is my gift of love and enduring friendship.
