Good Night, Dear Friend

This morning I received a phone call at 5:45. Could I please speak to Betty? She had been taken to the hospital at 3:30 a.m. and it appeared that she had an intestinal obstruction with necrosis (dead bowel). She had refused surgery, and indeed, she was an extremely poor candidate for surgery as she has had numerous mini-strokes and back surgeries. Betty needed pain medication and had been told that this was a fatal condition that would end her life within hours or days. Before she was medicated could I please have one last conversation with her?

Betty, this is Barbara.
Oh, Barbara....Hello Dear
Are you having a hard go of it?
....yes
You've had a rough night already.
....Yes
Betty, I'm told that this doesn't look good for you.
...No, it doesn't.
Are you afraid?
...No
....Do you feel ready to go?
....Yes...
Betty, we will soon be together in heaven and we can talk together forever. Won't that be wonderful?
...Yes, yes.
I'm going to be there, and I'm eager to see you there, where you won't have any of these problems.
Oh yes. Me, too.

Are you having some trouble breathing now?
............yes........
Betty, I love you dearly. We've had so many good times over the years, haven't we?
Yes, wonderful ones.
But it's time to say goodbye and I'll see you soon in heaven.
..........yes.........(wheeze)


Betty passed to her rest at 11:00 this morning. Her young friends were at her bedside holding her and loving her right to the very end. They told me that she had been smiling right up to the last.


She would have been 87 years old in nine days. I have loved Betty for many, many years now. She has been like a second mother to me. There have been too many conversations and activities to share and I hesitate, because it would be hard to capture the essence of what she has meant to me in just a few words. But there are several things that must be mentioned.
Betty called me every single day for four years while I was alone in Minnesota, getting my doctorate. I knew no one there and it was a quite lonely experience but for her phone calls: "Hello Lovie, tell me what have you been doing today?" And we would launch off on an animated conversation, punctuated by lots of laughter. We had a wonderful friendship and I couldn't have gotten through that experience without her warm support.

Betty knew what it was to be middle aged and single. While my life went in a different direction than hers did in terms of me getting married eventually, she was a tremendous comfort and role model as a woman who had a full life. She was independent, full of pluck--"a brick" as her neice called her. She knew that I struggled financially just as she had, and as a result she provided things for me that I could not have had otherwise. For example, she bought me my first laptop computer when I went back to school, and she sent me to France to a Gestalt Therapy training institute one summer. She also was a constant source of encouragement and spiritual strength to me, which I have written about in an earlier post.

But perhaps what I loved most about Betty was that she was spontaneous and young at heart. One Christmas Eve when I was alone, I called her around 9:30 at night and told her that I had a yearning to drive up to the mountains and smell the pines. "I'll be at the front door in 10 minutes," she said without hesitation. And so off we drove, 30 minutes up into the mountains, chatting happily all the way. Once we were at a good elevation on the Rim of the World highway, we pulled off onto a turnout and shut off the car. With the windows open, we inhaled deeply of the crisp, pine laden air for several minutes. We were exhilirated as we drove back down the mountain to home. I was unprepared for an obligation the next day, but it is the memory of sharing this wonderful experience with her that is so much more important.

We howled with laughter so many times. Once she invited me over for lunch after church and as we were waiting for dinner to heat up in the oven, she complained that the oven door didn't shut very tightly. Seeing a latch under the door handle, I shoved it to the right until the oven door was snugly closed. "See?" I had proudly said. She was horrified. I had just started the self-cleaning feature of the oven which locked it, preventing us from taking out the food, whilst the temperature soared up to 500 degrees. And yet, the caserole and Boston Cream Pie survived it all. We laughed about that for days.

Betty was the eternal optimist. Even though she had struggled with many things during her lifetime, she had never given in or given up. Some people thought she was quirky, but I loved her. Since my own mother is quite negative, it was medicinal for me to be with her.
While I loved my mother, Betty was able to do things and provide for me emotionally in ways that I could not get from Mother. The many shopping trips we took, the laughter, the way she listened to me and cheered me on, the warmth and kindness in her generosity--all of these things were incredibly helpful to me.

I know that Betty is sleeping until the resurrection morning, and I am glad. Her life had become very limited, living in a board and care facility for the last few years. Her speech was garbled almost beyond understanding, and she was starting to experience minor confusion at times. But she always loved my phone calls and an 11 x 14 photo of me hung right over her bed. I know I was loved and as I examine my attitudes and feelings about many things in life, I "bump into" her influence. She was really a gift from God and I am so grateful that I have loved her and been loved by her.

Good night, Betty. Thank you for who you were and what you did for me. I'll see you in the morning, my dear, dear friend.