The last time I saw Aubrey was on October 10, 2010. I know the exact date, because I took a few photos that day, digital pictures forever stamped with the date and time of a now cherished memory. It was a Sunday, and the final day of my second trip to Seattle. I had planned the trip around the KEXP Fall Fundraising Drive, and I had logged something like 18 hours of volunteer time at the station between Wednesday and Friday of that week — answering phones, entering data, and loving every single minute of it. With the whirlwind of the drive behind us, Aubrey and I planned to cap off my trip with Sunday brunch and a visit to the Ballard Farmers Market.

I took some great snapshots that day — my delicious plate of brioche french toast at Macrina Bakery, gorgeous foods and flowers at the market, an incredible market stand where mini doughnuts were made before your eyes — but not a single picture of Aubrey. I remember running into one of Aubrey’s friends at the market, and as they chatted, I thought, I should ask if she would take a picture of us. But for whatever reason, I felt silly asking, so I let the opportunity slip by. Now that Aubrey is gone, I would give anything to have just one picture with her, to go back in time and ask her friend for a simple favor that would have made a world of difference.

Brunch with Aubrey at Macrina Bakery.

In a photo I took at brunch, my plate is front and center, piled high with french toast dusted in powdered sugar and topped with fresh whipped cream and toasted walnuts (even now, I’m salivating). At the top of the picture you can see just a tiny bit of Aubrey’s plate across the table. My mind and memory can easily fill in the rest. Aubrey, seated across from me, smiling. And taking in every word I say to her as if it’s the most important thing she’s ever been told. And laughing with me like we’re the oldest friends, when this is actually the first time we’ve ever sat somewhere face to face and really talked.

Aubrey may not appear in any of the pictures I took that day, but she is still present in all of them. And I can still see her so clearly. Walking alongside me at the market, with the help of a cane — how wonderful to remember her walking — buying fresh produce and adding it to the canvas bags I was all too happy to carry for her. Pointing out her favorite stalls, greeting the vendors who all knew her by name. Smiling, as always. It was a beautiful day.

How many times I planned on coming back to Seattle after that, and how many times those plans fell through. Aubrey always understood. She talked about visiting me too, but as her health declined, that possibility grew more dim. In early 2013, I remember thinking to myself, I need to get back to Seattle to see Aubrey. But just like the photograph that was never taken, the months slipped away, and I missed my chance.

On my bedside table sits the green monkey I bought for myself after Aubrey died. Just like Aubrey, he’s always smiling. And even while I am all too painfully aware of Aubrey’s absence from this world, that green monkey with his infectious grin reminds me that she is still here. She is present in every memory and every story shared among those of us who knew and loved her. She is present in the grief we all share, and the friendship too. Most of all, she is present in our hearts.

I still wish I had taken a picture of Aubrey the last time I saw her, and even more, I wish I had gotten to see her again. But I will always be grateful for french toast and a stroll through the market with my friend on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Happy Birthday, Aubrey.

Flowers at the Ballard Farmers Market.