Editorial April 16, 2001 Issue

My friend from Lynn

Mary Trammell

SHE must have stood on this rocky promontory overlooking the Atlantic, just as I do on this cold, rainy March afternoon—watching early spring beat back the last gray weeks of winter. It's low tide now, and the black, seaweed-draped underbellies of the huge red rocks are exposed. It takes vision to imagine this scene in summertime, when the New England sun will be out in force. When the waves will be blue, sending up towers of spray as they break over the sun-baked rocks.

My friend had that kind of vision. She saw beauty and promise where others saw ugliness and despair. She had to see that way. Otherwise she couldn't have survived the crises she suffered during her years in Lynn.

Somehow, because of those very crises—and the way my friend faced them down—I love her all the more. I know she'd understand the adversities I've faced. She's been there. And I respect that.

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