July 24, 2005
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I went to my first wake. My friend died of metastatic breast cancer and the manner in which she left her life and friends was so secretive it seemed like something I might pull. Her death came as a shock and I decided to write about it for the newsletter. I know the way we die is very personal but I think the doctors lead you to believe you’re going to get better. They just want you to go another round.
The woman who called me said my friend had no idea she was dying. That just seems crazy. She wouldn’t even have called her mother, who lives in Kansas, if this woman hadn’t insisted. I can’t quit thinking about how I should have visited her. But I knew she was not doing well. And I knew she didn’t want me to see her when she was bad. And I went along with it. Linda, the woman who called me, said my friend didn’t want her mother to come because she talked too much and she just didnt have the strength to deal with it.
We have all these classes on birth. I think I need to take a class on death. I am almost five years out on my left side and eight years out on my right. So it’s looking pretty good for me. But I better get my shit together and figure out how to start being a better friend. Because there are lots of people who came to my aid when things were bad but we don’t even call each other any more. I am a bad friend. I just sit here night after night writing to you guys.
Tomorrow morning I’m going to Sun River for a few days. My friend doesn’t have a computer there so any writing will be in my notebook. I have all these ideas jumbled up in my head that need a closer look.
Mixed with a lot of sorrow was a quiet joy. I haven’t camped with the youngest in two years, four years since it was just the two of us. Her friend couldn’t go at the last minute and I was so happy. It was intimate. We even went on a hike, her suggestion. Traipsing behind her, I couldn’t get over my luck. I never would have been able to talk her into a hike, even last year. Hell, last year I couldn’t get her anywhere for a weekend, even with a friend.
Our campsite was HUGE, and right on the river. Plus it was on a dead-end, with a path down to the river. I wowed her with my cooking and I remembered the boom box so she wowed me with her music. The weather was perfect and I could tell she was having a great time. On the way home she wanted me to tell her what kind of little kid she was. It’s like I lost a friend but gained more of my child, which is a hard thing to do when they’re 17.
See you in a few days.
Comments (14)
I am sorry about your friend.
Everybody takes a ‘Class on death’ in life when they come across it. The closer the person, the deeper the experience and understanding of both life and death. Personally for me, reading parts from “Bhagvad Gita’ help. Inspite of the loss we all go on living almost in the same way, knowing that our turn is bound to come someday.
The time with your youngest (talking to her about her as a child) seems to be something that you wouldn’t forget for a long time.
Gaining a child is a wonderful gift. Losing a friend – terrible. Being a friend, perhaps the hardest thing in life. I thought you would tell us how you would do it if you were in her situation, secetive or not. Death classes, yes. I think it is as important how we die as how we live. I should say how I die as how I live. I hope I die better than I have lived by the way. Cheers.
Sorry to hear about your friend. I suppose these events bring us closer to the basic truth that “dying is just a part of life.” And life is all the “death class” we get– there’s no real preparing for it, it just “happens.”
Enjoy your trip!
So sorry about your friend. A lot of people are in denial when something happens like that, so I wouldn’t think too badly of her behavior. We all think we are immortal in a way, and it’s hard to face the truth. I’m fortunate that I have never had a close friend in my age group die. Not even a close brush. But I hear the stories all the time and I’ve read a few obits about people I used to work with–remotely–who died of either some kid of cancer or, in one bizarre case, a Scuba-diving accident.
In one related incident, I went to a party and met up with a former editor of mine who has Alzheimer’s disease–and he’s only in his 50s! It’s was really depressing as he could hardly remember anyone, couldn’t remain focus and must have lost 50 lbs. His wife had to lead him away after only half an hour–it was all he could handle. I had no idea you can get Alzheimer’s so young and it scared me.
Anyway, it’s just another reminder to be vigilant about our health. I’m glad I bit the bullet and had that mammography in the spring. I had put it off way too long.
RYC: Thanks for singing. LOL. That was the idea. I even went to iTunes and downloaded the song to my iPod. It’s been stuck in my head for two days now.
Lynn
Would I be any different were it to happen to me… it was her wish to die quietly, in her silent corner of the world, and it’s probably not that she was in denial, though that could be too, as this was her way to go… you shouldn’t feel guilty for not reaching out more, if she’d wanted that she would have asked, been open… remembering your own journey into healing, rembering her, this is profound in itself… your daughter is such a special person, as is your relationship with her, that was a beautiful description of time you spent together… enjoy every second away with your friend… I may be leaving mid-week, off-line for who knows how long… much love, your friend, Brenda xo
My condolences… {{{Hugs}}}
…weddings and funerals…i’m sorry that you lost a friend…
/hugs
I think they do need classes or something as such to help people deal better.
There’s a lot in here. Lots of relationships in your life. I love the way you share them with us, helping me, at least, by providing insight. You’re always honest. Classes on death – what a great idea. It’s almost taboo to talk about it in this society. I don’t know… Thank you for your comments and for being here. You’re strong, and with 5 and 8 years past, you’re doing well, kiddo.
The death of someone we know even reasonably well is very heads-up-making. Being a friend is damn hard for many of us. I ask people sometimes if they have a best friend and I often get an answer that sounds like they don’t even think it’s a good idea. I guess I miss the heart-to-hearts most in my friendship memories. Hope your time away if fruitful.
Glad you liked it. I have another recent poem a lot like it HERE (link).
I reread the end of your writing and reflected on how people perceive things differently at different ages. I decided to reread this after reading your comments on … what’s his name, the guy who recently wrote Daddy’s Little Girl. You and jeri writing about your families inspires me a lot and makes me feel at home.
The death of a friend to remind you of mortality–the camping trip, a rebirth-awakening. Pain to joy. Love how you share-it’s as if you were right here in the same room-talking to me. Your writing is familiar, yet thought-provoking. Thank you.
That is something we as a society really need help with. Amazing that it isn’t discussed more since we will all deal with it eventually. I am so very sorry for your loss. Sending you love.