I was going through some files the other day and came across the eulogy I delivered for my very good friend, confidant and counselor, Sonni. It struck me. She died two years ago today and, just like my wife, there isn’t a day that goes by without me missing her. I see her {their} influence in the everyday things I do.

After Karen died, Sonni and I became very close friends. She was the salve that helped heal a broken heart — not repair it, not fill it, not replace it. She learned from experience and took me under her wing.

I like to think we were helping each other get through the days of widow- and widower-hood. We talked just about every day — if not directly, then certainly through messaging and e-mail. I knew when something was troubling her. She knew when I got into my “moods” and would authoritatively tell {ordered} me to get ready, we were going shopping or something in 15 minutes.

I actually loved to go shopping with Sonni — Wegman’s, Walmart, Sam’s, Lowe’s, Pet Smart, Hallmark … it didn’t matter. We would always walk into the store hand in hand, often stealing a kiss. It made us feel young again.

During one visit to Sam’s, I sort of got distracted at a sample stand. While munching on the pepperoni pizza I noticed Sonni had kept walking … and talking, not only with her mouth but with her hands. Suddenly about a dozen or so steps up the aisle she realized she was speaking to air. She pivoted, scrunched her face and headed back in my direction, her finger wagging as she scolded me … then hugged me as I promised not to do it again. After all, she wasn’t the first to scold me {just sayin’ hun}. I had heard that speech before. From that point on, however, she tethered me to the cart like a two year old just to keep track of me.

And she got even. She stopped at a sample stand featuring a veggie burger. She told me it was good, but after choking it down, all I could say was it was the best sawdust I ever ate. I got that finger-wave again!

God sends people into our lives. There is no doubt in my mind, God placed Sonni in my world.

As I tried to move on and took my trips to Maine, Sonni would always challenge my motives. Why did I choose Maine? And invariably it would all come back to Karen. It’s what she wanted. It’s what she would have loved. And she would just say, “Uh huh.”

When I told her about the mill apartment in Maine, she asked the same question. This time, however, I gushed about the view, the high ceilings, the old wooden beams, a brand new kitchen with all the necessary equipment and no maintenance inside or out. In short, I told her it was what I was looking for. In fact, I don’t remember mentioning Karen once.

We were again discussing the move on the way back from her out-patient surgery just two days before suffering the debilitating stroke that took yet another strong woman from my life. She grabbed my hand, squeezed it and said, “My job is done.”

I miss Sonni. I miss her laugh. I miss her words. I miss her guidance. I miss her unconditional friendship.

Most of all, I miss her hugs. She believed in the therapeutic magic of a hug. In her memory, right now, give someone a hug … not a small hug, but a deep down, from your soul hug. A Sonni hug!

I miss Sonni.

I’m a pretty independent guy. I like to think I think things through. But the truth is, before I make a decision, I rely on tons of opinions, deciphering {at least trying to} fact from fiction. And I have always relied heavily on the thought of strong women to ground me, corral me, give me a greater perspective. I had that for 40-plus years with Karen. I had that for six-plus years with Sonni. I don’t have that now.

In my mind’s eye, I can see Karen and Sonni sitting there in heaven chatting, Sonni with her Diet Pepsi and Karen with her water turned into exquisite wine. I can see them laughing at the foolish things I say and do without their physical sphere of influence. I see them taking turns proverbially whacking me in the back of the head when I REALLY do or say something foolish {Hmmm, maybe it wasn’t really a stroke I had after all}.

I really miss them — both of them  — every day.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Genius is 1% inspiration, and 99% perspiration. — Thomas Edison