We've lost a friend

     I only met Bonnie Powell two times, although both were memorable. Is it possible to mourn someone you've only met twice? Until today, I wouldn't have thought so, but now I know it is.
     The first time I met Bonnie was on October 16th, 2010 - my wedding day. Because we were trying to do a wedding for 150 people on a budget as close to zero as possible, I served as both the groom and the line cook. About six hours before the ceremony was scheduled to start, I headed into the kitchen to start preparing the garlic bread and Caesar salad we would be serving.
     As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, a woman I had never seen before gave me a kind of scary glare (made a little scarier because she was holding an eight inch butcher knife) and said "Who are you?"
     "Oh. Hi. I'm Shawn. I'm the groom." Inside my head, I was thinking "Hey, I belong here. Who are you?" I took one look at her stern visage and decided this would be one of the rare occasions in my life when I kept my mouth shut.
     Over the next hour or so we had a number of different people come and go in the kitchen, preparing this or that. The whole time, I had the feeling Bonnie was watching me, deciding about me. And of course, she was working. The times I was around her, Bonnie was always working. 
     By the time we had everything ready, I knew I had passed her test, and that she thought I was OK. The fact that I was marrying Dawn, who she loved dearly and always called Matilda for reasons that were never clear, wasn't enough for her to make up her mind about me. Spending several hours in a kitchen together, up to our elbows in dishwater, apparently was. Although her expression never changed, by the time we had dinner ready for everyone, I knew I had moved from outside her circle of trust to inside.
     And, being inside Bonnie's circle was a wonderful thing. I don't think it mattered if she knew you a few minutes or a few years, once she decided she loved you, she would do anything for you. 
     She was so caring and giving that I think she put on a stern face so everyone wouldn't know what a softy she was immediately. She was a marshmallow with only the illusion of steel around her.
     The second time I saw Bonnie was just a few months ago, when our daughter Dani got married.  Once again, Bonnie and I found ourselves in the kitchen, preparing a dinner for many people on a very small budget. Once again, Bonnie worked and worked, cooked and cleaned tirelessly.
     This time, my hours in the kitchen with her were wonderful. She poked me, teased me, conspired with me and made me laugh. Hanging out with her made a tough job a joy.  When everything was done and she was ready to leave, she hugged me tight. Have you ever noticed how, when some people hug you, you really feel hugged? That day, I knew how lucky Dawn and I were to have a friend like Bonnie.
     Today, her race is run. 
     Dawn's heart is broken, and I know there's nothing I can do to ease her pain. We found out last night, and as Dawn cried in my arms, she said "It feels like I lost my Mom all over again."
     I think a good measure of a person's life is the hole you leave in others when you are gone. By that measure, and many others, Bonnie was a great woman. So many people have a hole in their hearts that will never again be filled. She is loved and missed by many. Rest in peace, Bonnie. You earned it.