For Franci

By Daniel Henderson, a middle aged man who is just beginning to gray. He looks sad, but in a peaceful, understanding way.

I always felt the day I met Franci could have been from a movie. I was having a horrible day, and what happens? I get into a car crash. When I say I met Franci by accident, I mean by accident. To this day I am still unsure of how my car ended up there lanes over, and although I regret the damage done to both of our cars, I wouldn't change one minute of that day.

When her blonde head turned to face me, I grew cared. My life was going to be over. I mean, I had hit her Mercedes and anyone in their right mind would have been livid. But not Franci. She said not to worry about it. She said "There is no point in crying over split milk. Hi, my name is Franci, and you're going to buy me dinner." That night I was introduced to the bold quirkiness that was Franci.

And life just wasn't the same. Life with Franci was just better. She took risks. She knew what she wanted and had no problem getting whatever it was. For example, there was the time she decided Tommy needed ponies for his fifth birthday, or the time she decided to completely redo my apartment. She was always looking out for others too. She knew how to make your day better, how to take it, tweak it, and give it that extra ray of sunshine. She was always moving years ahead of others.

When she got sick I couldn't believe it. I immediately pictured her lying in a hospital bed somewhere—an image that caused me to vomit up my lunch. I panicked. There was no way that Franci could get sick. She was the epitome of excitement. I couldn't handle the idea of her confined to a sick bed. She needed to be fit enough for her marathon in the spring. But it was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Franci was sick.

So I took on something I never thought I would do. I began training for that marathon of hers. She had talked and talked about it up until the day of the diagnosis, and hell, if she wasn't going to make it over the finish line, someone else would have to.

When Frnaci was between treatments, she caught on to what I was doing. "Danny, he said in that voice that always made me feel like a child, "You can't run a marathon. You get shin splints running around your yard, and you nearly have an asthma attck every time you do it." She had then paused and looked me intensely in the eyes like she always did, "Promise me you won't run this marathon."

Well, for those of you who knew Franci, you know she was spirited. She was compassionate and loved life. She was the type to bring home a puppy just because. Oh wait, she did do that. You also know she was the type to always find a loophole. Well Francine Johnson, it looks like your influence will live on. Ladies and gentlemen, I completed the marathon on April 14—walking. And I tell you, although she died March 29, she was holding my hand the whole way. When she died, everyone could tell. The comfortableness of life just disappeared. I had lost a dear friend. But on April 14, as I crossed that finish line, life felt normal again and I knew she approved.