Tonight I have too much to say and no right words to say it: I just lost my best friend, Pam, one of the brightest gifts in the long arc of blessings that illumined my way. She helped me through my husband’s death. She helped me through my sister’s death, becoming my sister, too. She was the sweetest, humblest, kindest, funniest person I knew, with the most infectious laugh, and the thought of moving forward without her boggles my mind and breaks my heart.
But I know I will move forward. Because I know she’ll be helping me and everyone she loved and loves still. I know she’ll be laughing with me, though I won’t hear her wild giggles again until I’m a cranky old fusspot and I die in my sleep and she finds me in the crowd at the pearly gates, eyes crinkling, sidling up with some wacky story of some weird guy in the line ahead of me. Someday we’re going to double over again with laughter, and heaven’s occupants won’t know how to handle it. We’ll make too much noise. They’ll have to send us back.
I just saw her a little over a month ago — and sure enough, after eating subpar sushi on a Saturday night, we fell into a bout of laughter that left us with aching bellies. “Amesadoodle,” she used to say. “Amesadoodle, wait’ll you hear this. I have a funny story to tell you.”
She always did. She will again. I’ll be waiting for it.
So tonight, in Pam’s memory, I’m asking you — whoever you are, be you friend, family or random stranger — to call up the person in your life with whom you laugh the most radiantly and contagiously. And let it rip, the both of you.
Figuring. Shit. Out. 
I am so sorry on the loss of such a great friend. I admire your strength and know you will be buoyed by her memories and still feel her strength. Tonight I will spend my strength, prayer and love for you.
Thank you, Father Bob.
So sorrow for your pain. Thank you, I will call that person in my life. Thank you for the reminder.
I am so sorry to hear this, Amy. I remember Pam, and how you two were practically inseparable at Hamilton. A friendship of that length and depth is rare. How blessed you both were to have partaken in such an offering, and to have experienced it in all its beauty, its sorrow, and most of all, its strength.
Thanks for this honest and caring post Amy. I am sorry for your recent loss and the loss of your husband and sister. Peace today.
Sorry for your pain. Must say, though, that’s beautiful stuff you write.
I am so sorry for your loss….and glad I found your writings.
I’ll call my sister in Germany tomorrow, and swap some stories. 🙂
Thank you so very much, Amy.
Jeff, thank you and bless you.
Amy, I am so very sorry for your loss – another loss. I am so sorry! Prayers and every good wish your way. May Pam’s memory ever be a blessing.
You have been in my loving thoughts for many years, Amy. I’ve enjoyed the brief times we’ve shared. Thank you for writing about Pam.
Thank you, Susan. You all are in my loving thoughts as well.
A wonderful tribute to a wonderful friend. You & Pam embody the saying that good and loving people have good and loving friends. Life isn’t fair and there is no “why” to so much that happens. Our love and prayers are with you, Pam, and all those whom you both hold dear.
Thank you, Carl and Karin. The same is so true of you both.
I’ve a lump in my throat and a smile on my lips, thank you. Pamsadoodle’s sister
Thank you and bless you, Karen.
Pam was very special. I’m sorry Ames. I won’t forget her either.
Thanks, Danny.