My Friend, Beth

My friend Beth died two days after I wrote my last blog. She went to work last Tuesday morning and complained of a headache. Shortly thereafter her boss was calling paramedics because she seemed to have fainted and couldn't be revived. By evening she'd been flown to Cleveland University Hospital in hope that their medical technology could save her from the aneurysm, but they couldn't.

I'd only known Beth for a little over two years. I met her when I plunged back into the AA life. That's a lie; I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the AA life and one of the last things I told Beth (she being my sponsor) was that I couldn't lie to her.  Beth was a regular at a meeting I attended on the west side of Akron. Most AA's belong to what's called a "home group." That's the meeting at which a member is most active; we make the meeting comfortable for anyone who needs or wants to be there and do our best to attend every week. Beth and I were both "home group members" at St. Anthonys' Women's Group and I ultimately asked her to be my sponsor. That's another AA necessity. (For more details Google Alcoholics Anonymous.)

Beth and I talked to each other weekly, usually on Saturdays at the meeting and now I wish we'd spent more time together, but I think I know why we didn't. At least on my part I was afraid to get as close as I could have been.

When I met my best friend, Carol, we were 18 or 19 years old. That was over 40 years ago. At that age life seems neverending, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad. Forming life-long friendships during your neverending years makes sense--they'll be with you forever. As I got older I began to shy away from adding BFF's. I have a few, but none as "forever" as Carol. As time went on I lost people close to me, beginning with my Dad. That was devastating, but not as devastating as losing my brother, then my mother, my sister, aunts, cousins and other friends. So I think that somewhere along the line I decided if I emotionally held people I really liked at a distance my heart wouldn't break when they died.

I was wrong. For all my keeping Beth at a "safe distance," my heart shattered like thin glass when her wonderful husband Jeff told me Beth "wouldn't be coming back." And now I wish I'd done more with her, gone shopping, gone fishing, gone to lunch, because ultimately it doesn't matter how much I try to shield myself against the heartache of loss; if you love someone and lose them you need to have fun memories of them. I think. Maybe. Oh, who am I kidding; my glass heart wouldn't have been any thicker had I gone out with Beth instead of just seeing her at work and meetings.

Within about 48 hours of her death I felt Beth had made it to a better place. I have the feeling she was confused for a while about where she was because she left so suddenly, but that when she understood she became filled with spiritual bliss and light. Her memorial service was packed with people who loved her and were still in disbelief that we'd never see her again in this life. It seems so impossible to believe that I was sitting with her at our home group meeting on New Year's Eve, but that I'll never again see her smile--in this life, anyway.

Beth was beautiful, loving and sweet and I will miss her. I'll always have plenty of good memories even though we never went fishing together.