Missy O'Neil

Barb was a fiery Irish red head who occupied the cubicle beside me at work for seven years. Hot tempered and reclusive as she was, I felt honored to be one of the chosen few allowed into her world. We shared so many special moments together both inside and outside of work. The love of our grandchildren was perhaps our warmest bond. Barb's two grandchildren lived in California, which made her heart ache to see them more often than she could. Over the years, she became my dearest friend and closest confidant. Every night, as I passed her cubicle, I shouted out "Good night Missy O'Neil", and she'd smile and wave goodbye.

Two years ago, she traveled to London with her nomadic son Patrick to enjoy a three week vacation. They called it their trip of a lifetime. Pictures from their adventures abroad are some of my most valued keep sakes. During their final week in London, Barb became seriously ill. The moment she arrived back home it became apparent that she needed immediate medical attention. Within a matter of days, she was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and was given less than three months to live. Her addiction to cigarettes demanding the ultimate sacrifice. My last visit with her took place at the Cleveland Clinic. I told her I loved her and we said our last goodbyes. I never saw her again. She died the following week while I was on vacation in Cancun.


The next two months were an agony for me. I needed to know that she was at peace. She haunted my every thought. I would pass her empty cubicle and whisper "Good night Missy O'Neil" and wonder if she heard me. And then she visited me in a dream.

I'd never known Barb as a young woman, but when she appeared in my dream as a radiant young red head I recognized her immediately. She was wearing a stunning red dress with red heels and a smile that would have lit up a room. I ran toward her with the intention of embracing her, but she raised her hand indicating clearly that I was not to approach or touch her. So I stopped and took the opportunity to ask her if she was going to be all right, if she was at peace. She smiled her wicked little smile and nodded yes. Then she waved, turned on her heel, and walked away. I no longer felt sadness or loss, just pure relief at knowing my best friend was at peace, and happy at last. I never dreamed of her again, and I no longer agonized over losing her. She had come back just long enough to give me the comfort I needed.

I still pass her cubicle every night and smile and whisper "Good Night Missy O'Neil".