White Nail Polish

A response from a friend reminds me why I've been wearing nail polish the last few years. It's a friendship thing again. I was there when Hallie died. It must have been eight years ago, but it doesn't seem that long. She waited for me, I think, to make it from Minnesota to Cape Cod. The hospice folks were there, so they got to hear our last exchange. I rattled off silly stories from our years together, and she laughed a real Hallie laugh. Then she checked out. It was actually 2:00 a.m. the next morning when she finished her journey, but for all practical purposes, she ended her life with a laugh. 

What a gift for me to have been there. My daughter was with us too and was all gratitude for having been included in that blessed event. 

Some time later I realized I was wearing white nail polish pretty regularly. I've never been a nail polish kind of person, so I was a bit of a puzzle for myself. Then I remembered Hallie's hands as she lay dying, beautifully manicured with white nail polish. What a caring gesture it was for someone to take the time to give her that comfort in her last days.

Now I know, my white nails are a memorial to Hallie, as is remembering her childhood energy which greatly outmatched mine, and her smile which I spot on my face in the mirror sometimes.