She is the greatest of friends, always a cheerful voice, a
smile, words of encouragement, someone you can count on to always
be there, in person or by phone, in thought and in spirit.
I met Barbara Shrider three years ago and what a joy ride it has
been. It started off as boyfriend-girlfriend and then transformed
into close friends, much more valuable in the transient life of a
professional journalist.
She is the greatest of friends, always a cheerful voice, a smile, words of encouragement, someone you can count on to always be there, in person or by phone, in thought and in spirit.
I met Barbara Shrider three years ago and what a joy ride it has been. It started off as boyfriend-girlfriend and then transformed into close friends, much more valuable in the transient life of a professional journalist.
We have traveled across the country and back in my little Geo Metro, in snow and rain, under azure skies, through mountains and valleys, enduring bitter cold and stifling heat.
Rainbows and rivers, eagles and elk, snow and sunsets – along with surprised old friends – were around each corner.
When we showed up at my Mom’s in Indiana, almost broke and jobless, she of course took us in. They quickly became good friends, both tireless workers and excellent cooks. Barbara was immediately liked by the rest of my family and friends.
She loved to sit at the end of a little pier on the shore of a small lake near my Mom’s condo. That’s one of my favorite mental pictures of her, along with hurtling down Interstate 70 and looking to my right to see her smiling face next to me in the front seat.
I gave her the tour of my Chicago hometown, complete with a ride on the Loop elevated train, a view from the top of the Hancock Building, a beer at Billy Goat’s, ribs at Bone Daddy’s, a draw bridge, Lake Michigan, more hilarious friends. Story after story after priceless story.
I stayed at her sister’s in Utah for a while, where the array of kids adored Barbara, and I was welcomed by everyone there thanks to her.
Most important, we have laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Even when there should have been tears. Even when there were tears.
Goodbyes were always sad, seeing each other again always happy.
She is 55. I will be 50 in August. Numbers that don’t matter.
We’re both tough as nails. She’s just so much nicer.
Last spring, she was in a horrible car wreck. Her back was badly bruised and insurance wouldn’t cover any medical help. Then there was no settlement money, despite a lawyer’s assurance.
Even then, in constant pain and disappointment, she managed a smile and said that’s just the way it is. Life always goes on with Barbara. She never complains. She is never bitter, rarely angry, even with me around to provoke it.
Maybe it was spending an early life devoted to raising four children in small-town Utah. Or facing constant medical problems, including major surgery, that made her so brave.
She has stumbled along the way just like the rest of us, but ever since I have known her, she gets up, dusts herself off and moves along with her life as pleasant as ever.
I have never met anyone with a soul more kind, a smile more sincere, a spirit more soothing.
She was there for tragedy and triumph; when I heard my Dad died, when we covered the Winter Olympics so well. She was there when jobs fell through and when career hopes were rekindled.
She was always there when life was harsh and hard, and when life was warm and wondrous.
If you have a friend like this, cherish him or her. Enjoy and appreciate every moment. If you’re not together, pick up the phone and call them.
They are priceless, one of life’s greatest gifts, a true and dear and wonderful friend, someone you can trust and confide in, someone who will always be there to listen and care.
Merry Christmas, Barbara Shrider.
And to all a good night.
