When I was four my parents had a house built on Gloria Court. I remember the house as it was going up. We would go out to the construction site periodically with my dad in our blue station-wagon. I think it was an Oldsmobile. It had vinyl seats and it was a beast.

We would go out to the new house – my dad, younger sister and I. Sometimes Mom and my older sister, too – but Amy and I weren’t in school yet and my dad worked nights, so it was usually us. The first time I remember getting out of the car when they were building the house, there were only beams up and I remember the smell of lumber. When we built our house last year, visits to the construction site always brought back memories of my four-year-old life when we were getting ready to move to Gloria Court.

When the house was nearly finished, we were at the site with my dad – it was on a cul-de-sac – and the girl that lived in the house next door was on her driveway. She came up to Amy and I and we started talking. She said her name was A.J. (not so, that was the name of her cousin; her name was Linda). She was five (just months older than me, I’d find out later). We all got along instantly.

After we moved in to the house, Linda’s family and our family became close friends. We lived in one of those neighborhoods that are mythical today – the ones where everyone knew everyone else and we all (mostly) got along great. Linda had an older brother and sister whose ages sandwiched my older sister’s – her brother was just slightly younger than my sister. Her older sister was the coolest. We became the type of friends that were almost extended family. Linda would walk into our house without knocking. We’d have backyard barbecues and swimming (they had a doughboy). Our backyards had no fences, so we’d go outside and play in her backyard, our backyard, in the cul-de-sac… we were always together. I loved Linda like my sister, and her parents were like mine.

Right around the time I turned 9, my parents decided that we’d be moving to Texas – job opportunities, family, I don’t really know why even to this day. Linda’s mom was our Realtor and she sold our house. I was really sad about leaving – I loved my school, my friends, and our neighborhood. I was going to miss Linda and her family a lot.

We moved to Midland/Odessa that October. I don’t remember staying in touch with Linda, but my folks kept in touch with hers because I’d hear how she was doing whenever they spoke. A few months after we moved to Texas, my parents moved us out to California to a small small desert town where my grandparents’ lived. In fact, we lived with them for a short time before we moved into a home in front of theirs. Life went on – I made good friends, friends I keep in touch with even now – and living Gloria Court became a great memory.

When I was about twelve, my grandfather turned 80. A big birthday celebration was put together, and our family hit the road in our pared-down, yet still blue, mini-stationwagon (Toyota Tercel, if memory serves). We drove across country, the five of us, to celebrate his birthday and to visit family and friends – including Linda’s family. I remember riding in the back back of the car, sleeping most of the way. I was happy to see family I hadn’t seen in almost two years – my aunts and uncle, my cousins, my grandparents, the farm… and of course Linda’s family. We stayed with them a day or two, and I went to Linda’s school with her one of the days. It was right at the heyday of Michael Jackson’s popularity and her friends asked me about what it was like to live in California (I totally played it up – I really lived in just a little town) and did I live close to Michael Jackson. We were peas in a pod. My parents and hers agreed that Linda would come out that summer and our family would go to Disneyland. Counting down for her visit got me through the rest of the school year. I was so excited.

She came out and she was a little different. She wanted to do things that I knew were not cool. I was down the straight and narrow, and she played it a little bit more fast and loose. I finally got fed up with her during the visit when were home alone and she was smoking my parents’ cigarette butts. I thought that was beyond gross. I was 12. My boundaries were pretty rigid.

After she left, I really didn’t give her another thought. I heard about her on occasion – but not frequently, and I shifted into a totally different gear as I entered junior high. We moved to a house in town and I was occupied with a new school, new friends, new life.

Right around the time I graduated from high school I asked my mom how her family was and how Linda was, and I was stonewalled. No info. No word. I knew our moms were still in touch, but I didn’t hear anything of her for a while. After about a year or so I found out she had been pregnant, but either my mom or hers (or both) didn’t want that info shared with us (my sisters and I). She had a son when she was 18. I saw pictures of him with her folks a few years later – he was the mirror image of her, in boy form. Cutest boy. I wanted to get in touch with her but my mom said that she had a substance abuse problem and she didn’t think it was a good idea. (Me = straig’75ht and narrow, remember?) so I didn’t try to get back in touch. I thought about her more often. I mean, she was supposed to be hitting all the same milestones in life as me, but her life veered off and took a different route than mine. And she was, despite my judgment and frustration with her the summer of ’84, as close to a sister without sharing parents. Which, when were little, we practically did because we were together so much.

About twelve years ago I got in touch with her mom via the internet (love. the. internet. It’s awesome for reunions, yes?) and we emailed back and forth for a while. I asked how Linda was, but got a very generic response, so I didn’t pry further. When I talked with my mom she said that Linda was having a difficult time in life and continued to struggle with substance abuse. I tried to find a way to reach her, but without going through her mom (which I didn’t feel comfortable doing since I got a strong “don’t go there” signal from her) I didn’t know how to reach her. I didn’t know where she lived and her name? Kind of a common name, especially in the midwest.

I fell out of touch with her mom (my excuse at the time was that I was traveling so much, but truthfully, I wanted to be in contact with Linda and that just wasn’t going to happen). My mom fell out of touch with her mom, too.

Over the last six months or so I have tried to get in touch with her again, reaching out to anyone with her name. Via Facebook, MySpace, google searches – what have you. To no avail.

Until yesterday… I called my dad and he tells me that he got a facebook friend request with a note from her mom. I logged on when I could and friended her immediately. She accepted and we messaged back and forth a little bit right before the new year rung in (CST). In looking at her page I knew something was off – no mention of Linda. No mention of her son, either. I thought maybe estranged? Maybe…? I don’t know.

This morning I called my family to wish them a Happy New Year and found out that my mom had been on the phone with her mom for three hours, catching up on life. My first question? How’s Linda?

Not good. Not good.

She passed away this past May. She struggled with major mental health issues (I understand that struggle). She continued to battle her demons by self-medicating (familiar with that, too). She went to sleep and she just… didn’t wake up.

I looked her up online again – she had married… she had a new name, but this time I found her obituary.

I am so… deeply sad that she’s gone, though I haven’t spoken with her in 25 years. I hurt for her family (husband, 3 sons, parents, sister). And I’m really angry with myself for never taking the opportunities to reach out when I should have. When I could have.

I still miss you Linda.