There we sat, three women in
a crowded, noisy bar surrounded by out-of-town convention attendees letting off
steam, and people loudly belting out karaoke tunes. We probably looked like any other group of
women out for a ladies night--talking, laughing, gossiping and catching
up. In reality, just a few hours before,
I’d listened to one of the women, just 37 years old, read a heart-wrenching
goodbye letter to her husband at his memorial service. I barely knew the second woman, having only
met her earlier that evening.
The three of us have much in
common, having been raised in typical, middle-class suburban families,
attending neighborhood schools, never really wanting for material things or
struggling just to get by. The two of
them had both been on their high school drill team, pretty, popular, well-liked
girls. In fact, they’d grown up in the
same neighborhood my daughter now lives in with her dad, just several hundred
yards away from my former home.
I’d met A just two weeks
before, a few days after her husband’s death from a heroin overdose. He and my boyfriend, Mike, were longtime
friends. The three of them had all gone
to the same middle and high schools.
Although I didn’t know her husband well, I’d spent time with him on more
than one occasion. He was an
intelligent, delightful, funny, charismatic person--the type who made everyone
feel like they were an instant friend. I
was looking forward to getting to know him better. We’d spent a few Friday nights sitting
side-by-side, chatting at the bar where Mike bartends on Friday nights, with
Mike joining our conversations when he wasn’t busy. Although he’d been candid and open with me
about his many struggles over the last several years, sadly, I had no idea he
was also fighting a heroin addiction.
Since his death I’ve spent
time thinking about the private, personal demons so many people fight. It makes me sad to know that someone I knew
was struggling. Despite some of our
recent honest, heartfelt conversations about his struggles, he didn’t reach out
to me, or to anyone, to let them know he was falling and needed help. Or perhaps, in his own way he did, and
everyone missed the signals. It’s so
hard to know sometimes. People we love
deeply, and think we know well, die, alone, giving up the fight, whether
intentionally or not. Those of us left
behind are left to wonder what more we could have done, and hoping somehow,
somewhere in their hearts they knew they were loved by us, and wishing they’d asked
us for help.
It’s also made me reflect about
how seemingly small, inconsequential choices we all make can unknowingly set us
on an unintended path in life. First one
choice, then another, leads in a direction, ending somewhere we never
imagined. The other night in the bar, we
talked about that very thing. Each of us
came from remarkably similar backgrounds, were smart, savvy, college educated
and had many options. But here we were,
all of us living lives we didn’t imagine when as girls we’d dreamt of what
adulthood would be like. We talked about
things we had in common, but mostly we listened to A tell her story. She’d made many small choices that ultimately
led to her own heroin addiction, which she’s currently fighting valiantly, having
been clean for over a year.
I listened to her in amazement,
the entire time wondering at which point exactly had her choices set her on a
path so different than mine. Life as she
knew it is over. She’d hit rock bottom over
a year ago, and was still struggling to make sense of where she was, and where
to take her life from here when her husband died. Now the challenges in front of her are even
that much more staggering. Honestly, I
was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to
say. How on earth could I even begin to
offer advice or wisdom? I have
absolutely no frame of reference for what she’s experienced. Then I realized I didn’t need to offer advice
or wisdom. The best things I could offer
her were respect, hope, and support.
At the end of the day,
despite the huge divide separating our current realities, we really aren’t that
different. She’s human, and humans make
mistakes. The great thing about it is she
owns her mistakes, and is doing everything in her power not to make them
again. That’s deserving of my
respect. I’d met A expecting only to
offer sympathy, but ended up with the opportunity to offer so much more. As she said in her final letter to her
husband, she’ll do everything in her power to make sure his death wasn’t in
vain, and to beat her addiction for both of them. I’ll proudly stand by her side, offering my
support in whatever way I can.
What a moving post. It's true that we can never look ahead at who we will be in life in the future. But one thing is always true: connections with others are the salvation of most of us. I am glad you wrote this, it's put me in an introspective frame of mind, always useful. Have a great weekend, Keicha.
ReplyDeleteYour heart comes shining through. There are no throw away people.
ReplyDelete