I dreaded going.
So much, that my body felt laden with heavy, emotional weights.
Then my mind began whirling with the 101 excuses on why I shouldn’t go. She was a friendly acquaintance, not family or a close friend; it would be an invasion of a very private moment that should be shared with her loved ones. And finally, would anybody really notice that I didn’t attend? But then my better half – the part that thinks with her heart and not her head – said I’m going. I’m going to be there for those who are hurting deeply. Who need a loving heart to embrace them. And so I went.
The memorial service for Deb was being held in a room at the local middle school in order to hold the masses that would come to honor her… so many lives she had touched with her loving ways. Including mine. When we would meet by chance, we’d stop whatever we were in the middle of & open our hearts to share of the strong bond we had in common – the love of our children. One of her sons - her youngest – is actually how the two of us had met to begin with. Josh was 16 when he first came to work at the grocery store where I was. It wasn’t long before he weaved his way in, around and through my heart as if he were one of my own. I loved him dearly and he kept in touch now & then after he went away to college… to work… to life. And each time he would come home for a visit with his parents, who lived 6 houses up the road from me, he would greet me with the biggest bear hug and the words…”Hi beautiful!” Imagine that… he thinks I’m beautiful.
And in between his visits home, his Mom and I would chat non-stop about the latest adventure he was on… his trip to Africa during college break to help teach English to the children; his trip to New Orleans to help those whose lives were torn apart after Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc on them and how he adopted one of the lost puppies from that storm and named him “Hurricane”; how he was moving from the east coast to the west coast – farther away from where we all lived, in this tiny little community – village actually – where most all knew each other.
I remember this one day Deb came into the grocery store to do some shopping and when I spotted her, I walked away from my register to talk with her awhile. She shared the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She said it so matter-of-factly, I saw no tears… heard no tremble in her voice…. as if she had already come to terms with “what is” and now realized the battle set before her. I felt strength & confidence radiating from her spirit. She even made me laugh about something - can’t remember what it was. Such poise… such grace. I admired her determination and focus. I hugged her hard hoping to transfer some of the love I was feeling for her – to her. She was going to need all the support she could get.
Then came the announcement that she had beat that devil and she was cancer free! I could have danced a happy jig when she told me, such joy I felt at the news of her recovery. For the next year we continued on much the same as we use to… questions about how she felt, how were the kids, etc… it was so nice to see her beaming smile every time she walked into the store and how she lit up the space surrounding her. But it wasn’t long before I heard through the people in our community that her cancer had returned. I had heard that she had said she wanted 24 hours to cry and then she would be ready to fight this dis-ease again. That’s all? 24 hours to grieve… to rant… to rave? How self-less this woman was! I can’t say that I would have limited myself to a mere 24 hours!
Her husband Rick owns the local barber shop and had cut my sons hair through most of his childhood. Whenever we’d come into the shop we were always greeted in a friendly Mayberry kind of way and while he cut my son’s hair in the latest fashion of the time, we’d catch up on the local happenings. Of course there came a time when my son graduated and moved out on his own and it no longer was convenient for Rick to cut his hair. Sadly, it was the end of our visits too. Though on occasion if I was in the area shopping, I’d stick my head in the door and ask about his well being or question him about something I heard going on in the village and ask what he knew about it. And when Deb got sick the second time, I would stop in to ask how she was and during one of those times, he informed me that she wasn’t doing too well.. the cancer had spread to her bones. I remember feeling as if the blood in my face had drained away. I knew from when I worked in the hospital back in the 80′s, that this was not a good sign and that her days were numbered. I felt heartsick over this, mostly cause I knew there was nothing I could do to ‘fix it.’ We Mommas, if were good at anything it’s fixing what’s been broken whether with a hug or a smile or in saying with faith and conviction..”this too shall come to pass.” But there was no way to mend this… to make this impending tragedy go away.
A couple months ago I had heard through a friend that Josh had moved from California back home with his parents. Six houses up the road and I could not make myself go visit. Why? What was I afraid of? I thought of buying those beautiful burnt orange colored mums I had seen displayed in the store to give to Deb as a gift but when I drove by her house, I saw that her side walk was lined with flowers of all kinds to the point of overflowing. I felt the last thing she needed was another plant…. silly me… what was I thinking! And every time I would drive past their house, I would berate myself for not taking the time to walk over there & say “hi”. I wanted to, I felt the need to – but I never followed through.
Word came on the evening of November 9th that Deb has passed away peacefully at home with her loved ones around her and the funeral would be held on Saturday at 1 p.m. at the middle school. I got off work at 12 noon so I could go home & change before attending the service. And what a gloriously beautiful experience it was. I learned through her husband’s talk during the ceremony that Deb had orchestrated the entire event from the music that would be played right down to the food that would be served after the funeral. This caused the room to explode with laughter cause those that knew Deb knew she was an organizer. I felt such love in that room, the energy of such I have never experienced before. She had touched our lives in some way that was special to each of us and because of that, she would live on through us. I am so happy that I was not able to talk myself out of going to this service for I would have truly missed the “love”.
When the preacher closed by saying a special prayer, two lines had formed… one to cross the hall to where the food was waiting and one to greet Deb’s sons – Josh and Jason – and her husband Rick. I got in the latter line because I hadn’t made it in time before the service to share with them my heartfelt condolences. I talked with Jason first, explained that I had never met him in person but knew so much about him through his Mom & I talking. I also told him that his Mom & I met back when Josh worked at the grocery store. Jason said he never knew Josh worked at the grocery store and we both laughed. Then I moved on to Rick and hugged him tight. When I went to take a step back I noticed he held on a little longer and I intuitively knew that he was hanging on to all those who shared a piece of his wife and I hugged him a little harder. Or maybe it was me who hesitated to let go, afraid to break that thread that bound us all together. As I stepped forward, I looked over and up into Josh’s eyes – he’s so much taller than I – and he said to me….. “Hi beautiful!” as I walked into his arms. He then said… “I wondered if I’d see you here today” and at that moment I had the answer to my earlier question …”would anybody really notice that I didn’t attend” and I’m glad I went and that I got to share in that energy of love. Thank you Deb for the blessing of being a part of your life.
From Deb’s obituary –
Deborah A. Seyer, 62, of Middlefield, entered eternal rest on Monday evening, November 9th, 2009 at home
surrounded by family and friends after being a brave and valiant warrior in her battle with breast cancer.
‘Carpe Diem’
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