A borrowed book offered a lighted path to consider a friendship. It was The Light Between Oceans, thematically centered around a lighthouse in Australia.

Reading the novel made me aware of lighthouses, and suddenly they were everywhere. The lighthouse awareness reached its peak while searching for a photo. I had planned an homage of sorts to write about Kendra Frakes, an exceptional friend who died in April this year. I was sorting out memories and anecdotes to share and commemorate on her birthday, August 16. The approaching date was still a celebration, of her being born and sharing herself with the world. She still seems in it to me, and I often hear her laugh, usually at my cynicism. Her nature, the whimsical free spirit of unbounded joy, always mitigated my more pessimistic temperament.

In my Kendra box are small trinkets, writings, letters and photos, including a collection of pictures from a trip we took in the fall of 1990 to the East Coast. She still lived in Los Angeles then and I in Dallas, but we met up in Boston. After a couple of days in Concord, we made it to her dreamland, Martha’s Vineyard. We stayed with her friend Madora in Oak Bluffs, a spirited woman in her own right. Kendra already knew every inch of the Island and even shared Island history that Madora, a lifetime resident, did not know.

Martha’s Vineyard has five lighthouses. My favorite is the Gay Head Light in Aquinnah. Its red toned bricks coordinate with the surrounding land and the ocean provides deep blue contrast. It dates to the 1800s. But it was the Edgartown Light that held Kendra in sway, mesmerized at each sighting. I still remember being seated with Kendra at its base at sunset, chilled by the October fall and breeze off the outer harbor.

Kendra eventually fulfilled her dream of moving to Martha’s Vineyard, and she spent a great deal of time at the Edgartown lighthouse. The photograph of the lighthouse sparked my many memories of her, but it also altered my birthday tribute.

It is unlikely any true expression can be written to express who she was and what she meant to me. I thought again of that night seated at the Edgartown Light, two California girls refusing to give in to the biting cold of the East. But it really wasn’t stubbornness in fighting the chill that kept us there; it was the camaraderie of a friendship. We were so different, and were on different courses, yet over the years we always found time to enjoy each other. Geography had been a challenge since I left L.A., but the phone rang often, and we both enjoyed writing long letters. Kendra remained a steady force, always a welcoming light, a stable beam in tough times.

Kendra’s friends were numerous, her capacity for people impressive. She collected friends the way I stole moments of solitude. Because she always acted from an outward focus, selfless to a fault, she always had room for new people in her life. No wonder so many considered her a best friend.

I don’t believe in best friends. It’s not that my expectations are too high for such a lofty title; rather for me it takes a collection of a few people who each provide their unique selves to fill what is missing in me. But thinking of lighthouses, how they are positioned in elevated places and exist to provide consistent signals of safety and security, maybe Kendra was my highest friend.

Her passing still catches me off guard, and has left my friendship path a little less bright. But she gave so much, and left a legacy that lives on in the people who knew her. I know she helped me become a better writer, a better person, and insisted I lighten up more often.

The intended poem, or homage for Kendra’s birthday did not materialize. I found no words. In a serendipitous turn, the date of August 16 was spent with her cousin, Karin, in Phoenix, Ariz., and we shared a spectacular day remembering our Kendra. A lot of laughing, a lot of talking to her, and a few tears. But not many — we knew she would have hated that.

I do miss my lighthouse friend.

Lani Ropiequet lives in Houston, Tex.