In my imagination, at least, Jill looked a bit like me. She also looked like Erin Karpluk, the Canadian actress who starred in Being Erica. She had a laugh that lit up the room because it was loud, sudden, and bold.

We met when I was teaching history and social studies at Newton North High School. My partner from across town had to bow out of a trip to China, so Jill stepped in, fluent in Chinese, travel, and Newton education.  Jill was easy to travel with, or perhaps ideal. She would fearlessly try food, experience, or social interaction. She simultaneously had an open mind and a sense of humor. In my mind, we were always friends, even as our lives took us in different places.

After Jill moved first to New York and then to London, England, I made a point of seeing her when I could and staying in occasional touch.  Jill earned a degree in social work and had a vibrant social life. She organized domestic workers in New York and sought out new adventures in the UK with her partner of many years. We kind of lost touch but also lost opportunities to reconnect as life got busy, and my moving and having two small children did not help.

One night when I was doing dishes, The Historian came in and said, “Um, do you know what’s going on with Jill?” to which I said that I did not. “I think she has cancer. Actually, I think she may have died.” I had to sit down. A little internet searching showed that this was, indeed, the case. In the time since I had lost touch with Jill she managed to be diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer and to die. I learned of her death only as the 1-year anniversary of her death approached, as friends commented on FaceBook that they were looking forward to gathering in commemoration of Jill. My searching did not reveal much, or maybe I could not stand to seek out more information, so sad and ashamed was I not to be more a part of Jill’s life in those difficult late times. I had always thought that we would reconnect at some point, but instead I spent a few days of my early 40’s wandering through life thinking, “I will never get a chance to tell Jill how much I loved her.” I hope she knew, but I doubt it.

This taught me many things, like that life can be fleeting and terribly unfair. My searching showed that Jill died surrounded by caring people that she loved, reminding me that my own piece of her life was probably quite small and not terribly significant. At the same time, she inspired me to later shoot my mouth off to various friends, telling them, “If I ever get cancer, I’ll be sure to let you know!” Well, that was brilliant. Because now I have cancer, and now you know. I never thought I was going to have to make good on that brilliant promise.

I am very grateful to our mutual friend Annie for sharing with me more about Jill’s life. A few months ago I even mustered the presence of mind to send her family a sympathy card – proof that it is never too late or the wrong time, or at least that’s what I believe. But there’s only so much strength that I have. I remember the last message that she sent me, and I do not have to look it up again: “I was at the theatre last night, and I thought that I saw you!”