As you might have read in my column Sunday, my close friend Lisa Fuller died last week, after a long and painful battle with cancer. We sang together in our church choir, and I can’t imagine who will sing the solos, correct my pitch when I need it, and do all of the other wonderful things Lisa did for me.

She was only 51, and I realized this morning that this is the first time I’ve lost a close friend who is close to my age. It feels different, to lose someone like that. Has it happened to you? Does it feel different to you, too?

Think about it: What did you do years ago — and love — that you would give anything to do all over again? Maybe it was play the violin, or sing in a garage band, or spend summers at the beach. For me, it was play field hockey, my varsity sport in college, and a club sport for me as long as we lived in a place where they played it. Yeah, I know, it’s a little esoteric, not like tennis or golf, but I loved the team aspect, the workout you get on the field, the strategy, all of it.

And last night, I got to play again, for the first time in many years. Turns out that Rhodes College has had a varsity field hockey program for 10 years, and this summer they are doing what amount to pick-up games, and inviting “community” people to play, too. It was steamy last night, and I ran out of gas long before we were finished, but I haven’t completely lost my stickwork, even if the sticks are now composite material instead of my old, wooden one. The Rhodes coach and the other players were gracious and tolerant. I felt great afterward.

So think about it: What did you do in your past — maybe your long past — that you’d love to do again?

And look for me on the hockey field again next week.

By the time I arrived, the alumni field hockey game had already started. It was cold and misty, but the women on the field hardly noticed. I watched, awed by the incredible fitness, skill and determination of both the alums in their purple T-shirts and the current team in uniform.

I felt shy, as I always do when I’m watching the current incarnation of my former collegiate team. It’s difficult to believe that the women on the field — most on scholarship, all top-ranked on their high school teams — have anything in common with the dumpy uniforms, ad hoc practice facilities and determined but random collection of players that make up my field hockey memories. It was even harder to imagine that any part of my life now — as a slightly out-of-shape wife, mother and journalist — would be even remotely interesting to them.

Turns out I was wrong. (Read the rest of my Sunday column HERE.)

I’m just back from one of the sweetest weekends I’ve ever spent at Northwestern — my first-ever Women’s Sports Reunion Weekend. It all started when my pal Christine Brennan realized that many of the incredibly successful NU women athletes these days are seriously worried about what they’ll do when their playing days end, and even if they aren’t, we old-timers (and more young-timers) can offer them help/contacts/advice. So off I went … and it was SO much better than I expected.

The highlights:

– Watching our THREE TIME national champion women’s lacrosse team demolish North Carolina on Senior Day, 16-3. Lindsay North, a senior I’d met the day before at the mentoring sessions, scored a goal in her last home game. Can we say four-peat? (That’s their amazing Lakeside Field, on the shores of Lake Michigan, in the photo.)

– Hearing the story I’d read all over from the woman who lived it: Anucha Browne Sanders (NU Basketball ’85), Read the rest of this entry »

We don’t really do a very good job of talking about death, either to our kids, or to each other.

At the first funeral I ever went to, when I was about 12, the grownups kept asking me if it didn’t look like Great-Uncle John was “sleeping.” Well, no, I thought. It looks like he’s dead. But I didn’t say so.

More recently, I’ve had to think about how to talk about death with my 8-year-old, and not because I wanted to.

Our precious dog died recently, late one night after Tomas had gone to sleep. The next morning, his dad and I told him, and waited to see what would happen. There were lots of tears and questions, but after a while, he tucked a favorite picture of C.B. into his pocket, and went off to school.

The next day he drew an elaborate cartoon of C.B. boarding an airplane taking off into the clouds, with the cheerful caption, “Have a good time in heaven!”  For Tomas, C.B. had been a good dog, and when she died, she went to heaven. It was that simple.

I wish it were that simple for me.

Click here to read the rest of my column from today’s Commercial Appeal, and be sure to share your thoughts on Easter, death and resurrection by leaving a comment below.