Sweet T...

One of my best friends died on January 24th. Her name was Terese, and we have been friends for over 30 years. I met her when we had not lived in Memphis very long. I had just started a house call pet grooming business, and she was one of my first customers. She was living with her father, mother and brother in a long, low, brick ranch house. I went in the evening when Chris was home to take care of baby Rachel. Terese had two Border collies, and a Springer spaniel named Blessing. I was there to groom Blessing. We set my gear up in her bedroom, and chatted happily about dogs. She was a few years older than me, but we found we had much in common. When I was finished with my work, I remember quipping, "I have not lived here long, and don't know many people, want to be my new best friend?" She later told me that she had been thrilled by my question. I invited her to go shopping one day, and she popped over with a tote bag featuring a drawing of a Springer that looked just like mine for a gift. I had no way of knowing that this would be the first of many thoughtful, incredible gifts she would give me over the years. Soon she was part of the family, hanging out at our house, joining us for holiday celebrations, and becoming little Rachel's beloved, "Auntie Terese."

That first night I met her she told me that she would love to become a dog groomer. She had worked in Californian in some sort of office job, and then had moved home to care for her ailing mother. I met her when her mother was doing better, and Terese was looking for a new chapter in her life. I was working part time grooming at a veterinary hospital.I asked my boss if I could train a new person, and he agreed. I called Terese the next day and said, "Ok, so I have planned your life. You are going to come to work at the vet hospital with me, and I will train you to groom." She stuttered and stammered, and then agreed. Later she said no other approach could ever have been as effective as my bossy statement.She said she would have been too insecure to agree except for the way I delivered my plan left her no room to back out.  She continued to work at that place for over 30 years, making thousands of dogs more comfortable and beautiful.

I don't have many pictures of Terese, because she was one of those people who would run if a camera came out. I snagged this one off a video a mutual friend shared with me.

Terese was one of the most genuinely sweet people I have ever known. When I talked to her brother after her death he started the conversation with, "She was the only person I ever knew who loved EVERYBODY." That was true. Even people who were not kind to her, she would strive to find the good in them, and to find a way to dismiss their cruelty. It wasn't long before I dubbed her, "Sweet T," and that became my pet name for her.

When we moved to Maine 17 years ago I never dreamed I wouldn't see Terese again. I planned to bring her here, and offered, many times to send her airline tickets. She refused, wanting to wait until she lost weight, or had someone to watch her pets. We put a visit off, never knowing that tomorrow wouldn't come.

During her illness we texted volumes and talked on the phone almost every day. She couldn't sleep well in the early days, and said she often wished she could text me in the middle of the night so she wouldn't feel so alone, but didn't want to bother me. I asked if she'd like me to leave my phone where I couldn't hear it and she could call or text all she wanted, and I'd answer in the morning. She loved that idea. For weeks I'd get up at 6:00 and sit on the love seat in front of the wood stove. I would read all the messages she had sent me in the night, then call her. We would chat before I went out and did morning chores. As she became more ill, our pattern shifted. After work I'd get supper started and animals fed, then have a glass of wine by the wood stove and call her for a long, evening conversation.

Shortly after she was diagnosed with cancer, she confided in me, "I see dogs. Out of the corner of my eye, little dogs appear." She expected me to find this strange, and was happy that I thought it was nice. No one ever loved and appreciated dogs more than Sweet T, and it seemed to me that the dogs she was seeing were little guardians here to shepherd her along her way.

I am missing my friend and our fireside chats. I hope the little dogs she saw were there to greet her when she passed. Her kindness and generosity are forever woven into our lives, in ways that will keep us remembering until we, too, are mere memories.