Eulogy for Jaci

When we were seven or eight, my best friend, Jaci next door, and I, filled her little red wagon with boxes of girl scout cookies. We rang doorbells up and down our street, determined to sell our wares.  This was in Ottawa, Canada, where most of the houses on our block were embassies or consulates.  The butlers and secretaries who answered their doors had no idea what a girl scout was, and were nervous about doing business with us.       

Then, one kind woman in a sari, with a red dot on her forehead, smiled, gave us ten dollars, and asked us to please give the cookies to someone who was hungry.  

We did.  

Yesterday, a group of adorable, little girl scouts, one with curly red hair like mine, rang the bell.  I handed her the cash I hid in my shoe and asked her to give the cookies to someone who was hungry.

I did that, as I do every year, with tears in my eyes, in honor of Jaci and me.  And about this time in March, I bet she’s ringing doorbells again, in Heaven.