My wife asked the priest about Rita’s health, confirming what I already knew.

Wife:
Father, did you go to see Rita? How is she?

Priest:
Yes, I visited her, and I realized one thing: she is an angel.

Friendship is straightforward and difficult to explain; different cultures define it differently. I found something interesting in the Wikipedia encyclopedia:

“Friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between people. It is a stronger interpersonal bond than an acquaintance or an association, such as a classmate, neighbor, or colleague. In some cultures, the concept of friendship is restricted to a few relationships; in others, such as the U.S. and Canada, a person could have many friends, plus perhaps a more intense relationship with one or two people who may be called best friends.”

I fall into the definition of some cultures.

For me, the definition of friendship is not only knowing a person; it is something more profound. Friendship is loving a person. It is fraternization in which the feelings expressed are mutual. Perhaps that is why the people I can call friends are fewer than the fingers on one hand.

In February, we call it the month of love and friendship. I want to pay tribute to some people I once considered friends, even if only for a short time.

When I moved from Kansas City to the Atlanta area, I had to leave behind the few friends I had. That was not important because I have lived without friends almost all my life. The first people we met in the Atlanta area, my wife and I, were coworkers at the schools where we worked and the people who attended the Catholic church we still follow. At the church, we met four people extremely compatible with my character who, by force, I had to call friends. Unfortunately, I must say they are no longer part of this world, and for that reason, I will use their names in this story.

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Richard and Beth

My wife and I befriended an American couple named Richard and Beth Lee. One day, while we were walking through the aisles of a Lowe’s store, a married couple greeted us from afar. I have a terrible memory for faces and did not know whether to greet them back. I thought they were greeting someone else because we were practically new to the area and didn’t know anyone.

The man insisted, so I greeted him and told my wife what was happening. She looked and told me they were a couple from church. They came over and talked to us for a few minutes. The incident was strange because I am not used to that kind of kindness. They went on their way, and I thought the greeting was casual and would not be repeated, but I was wrong.

Over the weeks, that friendship became more genuine. Beth, Richard’s wife, seemed especially sympathetic to my wife. Whenever they saw each other, they talked for a few minutes.

One Saturday after church, Richard came up to us and told us there was a celebration of friendship in the church hall and that he wanted to invite us. He had the vision of forming a club for the elderly. We were not retired, but he wanted us to join the celebration as his guests. I did not intend to attend, but in the end, I accepted, and we had an enjoyable night. We had dinner together, played bingo, and talked. It was a delightful evening. The hall was full of people having a great time.

Time passed. Sometimes we went to Saturday Mass and sometimes to Sunday Mass. One Saturday at the end of Mass, I told my wife that we hadn’t seen Richard for a long time. She told me she had noticed it too. The following Saturday, we attended Mass again, and at the end of the service, my wife told me that Richard was there. She stopped to greet him, but I wanted to leave because there were many people crowding the exit.

Before leaving the building, I looked back and saw my wife resting her head on Richard’s chest in a gesture of grief. When I spoke with her, she told me she had asked him about Beth because she wasn’t at Mass. Richard told her that about a month earlier, Beth had died.

I felt deep sorrow and a strong desire to hug Richard. I walked slowly to give him time to leave the church, but it took so long that I decided to continue to the parking lot. In the distance, I saw him getting into his car and greeted him from afar. The sadness from that news stayed with me for a long time.

Weeks passed, and we rarely saw Richard. One Sunday, we saw him at church, and he invited us to his home. There, he took us into his bedroom and showed my wife Beth’s clothes. This is the conversation I remember:

Richard:
What I am about to do, I wouldn’t do with anyone else, only with you. I still have Beth’s clothes. I don’t want to give them to just anyone, only to you, Maria. But I want you to be honest. Choose only what you will wear. If you won’t wear them, don’t take them, and please don’t give them to anyone else.

Wife:
No problem, Richard. Thank you. I know this is very difficult for you.

My wife chose some clothes she felt she could wear. Then Richard, visibly emotional, looked at me and said:

Richard:
For me, Beth isn’t dead. Every night, I talk to her.

I nodded and replied:

Me:
I believe you, Richard. I know.

I invited him to our house, but he told me he did not socialize, and the conversation ended. We said goodbye, my wife thanked him, and our friendship crystallized forever.

A few weeks later, we saw him again at Saturday Mass. As we were leaving, I saw him leaning on a cane while talking to others. I gathered my courage and went to greet him.

Me:
How are you, Richard?

Richard:
I walk with this cane now, but I came to say goodbye. I want to be with my wife.

My wife joined us, and then others surrounded him. We had to leave. As I got into my car, I waved at him from a distance. It was the last time I saw him. Shortly after, we learned he had died. His daughter took him to live with her, and the funeral was held privately.

I have never met two people with greater kindness and a deeper sense of friendship than Richard and Beth. I will never forget them.

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Lester

Lester was always smiling and friendly. He laughed easily. He was knowledgeable, a descendant of Chinese parents, and born in Jamaica. I don’t know how he came to the United States, but he built a lifetime here.

One Sunday morning, he saw me outside the church and noticed that my shirt had the colors of the Mexican flag. I didn’t know how to respond. He was knowledgeable about culture, and I am not Mexican. After a few seconds, I answered affirmatively, and we exchanged a few words. I told him I was Puerto Rican, and he told me he was Jamaican. The conversation changed when my wife joined us.

Over time, Lester befriended us. Being Puerto Rican and Jamaican made us feel closer. He often shared jokes with us after Mass. Suddenly, Lester stopped attending church. Then we learned he had suffered a sudden heart attack and died—another friend gone.

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Rita

Rita seemed like the person who welcomed new members of the congregation. Although we had always belonged to the parish, during a renovation we attended another church nearby. When we returned, the renovation was complete, and the church looked beautiful. It was during this time that we met Rita.

One Saturday, she approached us to welcome us. From that moment on, we were friends. She always stopped to talk with us and often hugged my wife. One day, she surprised me by asking, “Can you give me a hug?” I hesitated, but she repeated the question, and I said yes. She hugged me. I truly believed she was an angel of the church.

Weeks passed, and we noticed Rita was no longer attending Mass. Later, we learned she was ill. She had terminal cancer. Although many people loved her, she did not want visitors. The priest visited her, and one Sunday my wife asked him about her.

Wife:
Father, how was Rita when you visited her?

Priest:
She is not in perfect health, but I can tell you one thing: she is an angel.

I always knew she was an angel. Rita died quietly, without noise, as angels do.

The Sunday after her death, I sat in a wooden pew waiting for Mass to begin. I noticed a bird among the trees outside the church. It flew to one of the glass mosaics and stayed there throughout most of the Mass. I felt that the bird was Rita, coming to say goodbye.

The bird returned for two more Sundays and then never again. The gates of heaven opened to receive the angel I knew—Rita.