My mother called me yesterday to tell me that Fran died. Fran has been my mother's friend for almost 50 years. Mom met her shortly after she met my father. Fran's husband was my father's lifelong friend.

We grew up in a small town. Not even a town, really, it was a township. Fran's husband came from a family of farmers as did my father. Our parent's parents and their parents before them were farmers in that same town - generations and generations of families that worked the land and knew each other's children. Fran's husband and my father were the last generation of the farmers. All the farms are gone now, sold for the price of the land. What were rows and rows of the earth's bounty are now subdivisions and golf courses. And, the wives of the farmers are the only ones left to tell the stories.

Fran was the most willful of the wives. She was the opinion setter for the group of wives; my mother derived many, if not most, of her opinions from Fran. My sister and I knew that we would hear what Fran had to say every time an opinion was needed on a topic. It was easier for my mother to defer to Fran's opinion than come up with one of her own.

Fran's children were our ages. Fran's daughter was one of my best friends; another daughter was one of my sister's best friends. Our lives overlapped in school, at church, in Girl Scouts, at home, and everywhere else in between. We spent many hours at Fran's house playing, riding horses, and telling secrets. My sister and I coveted their horses as our father would not spare a penny on such a frivolous hobby. We had sleep-overs and stayed up all night watching horror movies that my mother would not allow us to watch in our house. They were the first of our friends to have a color TV but the movies we watched were always in black and white.

Every mom took care of everyone else's children; every family took care of each other. For my 16th birthday Fran's daughter gave me a surprise party. I have never had another surprise party in my nearly 50 years on earth. It was the best birthday I have ever had, frivolous and fun. And, Fran's daughter gave me one of my favorite birthday presents that I have ever had, a purse. A beige purse with a chain; it was so cool. I didn't have many cool things growing up in my town though I always had everything I needed. I treasured it and kept it for many years after it's usefulness was gone. It reminded me of my favorite birthday, of a surprise party I had never expected, and of my childhood friends and the families of my childhood. I looked for that purse last week. It's gone now.

Less than a year after my 16th birthday, my father lost his farm. I never understood until many years later how a community makes sure that children always have what they need, like birthday parties and cool things. My father died in his 50's, the first farmer lost in the last generation of the farmers. Fran's husband died a few years later in his 50's in a tragic accident. Other lifelong friends have followed, one by one. Now the wives of the farmers are leaving us, too.

It's been about two months since my mother called me one morning at 6:30 to tell me of Fran's illness.

"I waited as long as I could to call you. Are you up? I didn't want to call last night; it was too late."

This farmer's daughter has long known the value of those early morning hours when working in the predawn stillness passed the time quickly. Most of the day's work is done before the sun is high. And, the rules do not allow late night calls.

"Yes, Mom. I'm up."

"Fran's sick. They told her she has cancer and it can't be treated. She's going home. She said it won't be long. She said I can call her but I can't come see her. She won't have anyone see her when she's sick. What should I do?"

"You know Fran, Mom. Do what she wants you to do."

Mom called her often. They talked about dying and how Fran would die soon. Fran told Mom of her list of things to do. Mom knew when she finished the things on her list. Mom told me regularly what Fran said about this or that; Fran still was the opinion leader for the community of wives. This time, however, we learned more about Fran. We knew of her opinion about death and dying and we learned even more from her about living.

Less than a week ago, Fran slipped into a coma. Her son called Mom to tell her of the change. He told Mom she could come visit. All the children were there and they had decided that her friends should know that the end was near. Mom told me she was going to see Fran.

She called the next day.

"I saw Fran. I talked to her. She looked so peaceful; I don't think she was in pain. She looked like Fran but she looked like she was already gone. I told her good bye but I'm not sure she heard me."

She heard you, Mom.