When a Light Goes Out: Remembering a Dear Friend

There are friends who come into your life and quietly become part of your story — and then there are those who become part of your heart. Losing a longtime friend like that leaves a space that feels impossible to fill. Pattie was one of those people and it’s hard to imagine a world without her.

My husband and I were lucky enough to share many years of friendship with Pattie and Michael. We traveled together, stayed at each other’s homes, and collected a treasure chest of shared experiences — full of laughter, stories, and the kind of ease that only true friendship brings, the kind that doesn’t need daily contact to feel alive. Those adventures have been playing through my head in recent weeks and months like an endless reel.

Pattie’s passing has left an ache that words can’t quite reach. The grief comes in waves — sometimes gentle, sometimes crashing — and I’m learning to let it move through me, instead of fighting it.

My dear friend was one of those rare souls who seemed deeply connected to the earth and everything living on it. She was an “earth mother” in the truest sense — loving and rescuing animals of all kinds; nurturing, intuitive, and endlessly generous.

She had the eye and heart of an artist, although she was modest and humble about her incredible talents. It’s hard to imagine a world without her gentle presence. The kind of friendship we shared doesn’t fade quietly; it lingers — in every memory, every photo, every inside joke that still makes me smile through tears.

Grief has a strange rhythm. Some days it feels heavy and close; other days, it softens into gratitude. Gratitude for the years we had together. Gratitude for the lessons she taught just by being who she was. Gratitude for the reminder that love and friendship are among life’s greatest gifts — and that their echoes remain long after we say goodbye.

As I reflect on her life, I realize that loss is love’s echo — a reminder of how deeply we’ve cared. The truest measure of a life is not in years, but in the love left behind. Pattie left plenty of that — in the hearts of her friends, her family, and every living creature lucky enough to be touched by her kindness.

And while I wish we had more time, I’m comforted knowing that the bond we shared doesn’t end here. It lives on in memories, in stories, and in the ways Pattie inspired me to live more fully. Those stay with me.

So today, I hold space for both sorrow and gratitude. For missing and remembering. For endings and continuations.

Because even when a light goes out, its glow lingers — and so does love.

Ciao, Bella.