I was wearing a peach suit and eating a salad on the veranda of a hotel in southern Bosnia when my friend Leah died. The helicopter transporting her to a meeting with a dozen colleagues crashed in a mountain fog and exploded on impact thirteen years ago today. She was twenty-nine.
There was a touching memorial service. And lots of tears. A small monument was erected at the site of the crash, which was in a strangely peaceful, idyllic place in a forest next to a small lake. The view from the top of the mountain was breathtaking.
We met working for the United Nations. She was a press officer and I worked in civil affairs. She later joined civil affairs and we shared an office in Sarajevo.
The war that ravaged Bosnia had ended and the difficult task of rebuilding had begun when she died. It’s hard to explain how close you get to people in a war zone. I’m not talking about knowing their favorite movies or favorite foods and stuff like that, although you know all of that. You spend day after day, from early morning until it’s time to go to bed with these people under very trying circumstances and there aren’t any secrets. I mean you really know what people are made of.
And she was made of courage, integrity, and truth. She was an amazing woman. A great writer, an even better friend. She loved pretzels and bananas. I don’t know why I remember that. And as odd as this may sound given what was going on around us, I remember we laughed a lot. All the time, actually. She worked tirelessly to protect the rights of minorities. But she always had time for you when you needed a shoulder to lean on. As I write this the memories are flooding back and the tears are starting to flow.
Not only because I miss Leah now but because I missed her then. I was supposed to meet her and a couple of girlfriends for dinner and a movie on the Saturday before the crash. But I had just gotten back from an exhausting trip and didn’t think I could make the two-hour drive through the mountains to meet them without falling asleep. So I said I’d see them the following week. I never saw Leah again.
But I am grateful. I am so grateful that she was a part of my life and that those special people with me in Bosnia are still a part of my life. Yesterday we gathered in New York to remember Leah and the others that died with her that day. Such precious memories and important lessons.
The most lesson is that it’s people who make our lives worth living. I know it sounds corny and cliché, but trust me, you can live without electricity and water and all of the creature comforts. But you won’t survive one day without love and friendship. So the next time you think you’re too busy to meet a friend, or too busy to call or email—even if it’s just to say hi—remember Leah and find the time. The laundry can wait. Open your heart, open it wide, and joyfully embrace the ones you love. Thank them for every moment they share with you.
