A sad day..My best friend died.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Day before yesterday, I opened my Facebook page and the first thing I see is a post from my best friend’s daughter, saying RIP to her mom.

I was struck dumb. My friend lived in Kansas City, so I didn’t see her often. She’d stopped calling or e-mailing me a few months ago, but that’s not unusual, we were the kind of friends who can not speak for months, even years and pick up the conversation as though no time had passed.

She did post to FB a couple months ago, but didn’t respond when I commented.

I now understand why. She started feeling sick in Feburary, but put off going to the doctor until May. She didn’t have health insurance.
It turned out she had small-cell carcinoma, which progresses very quickly. By the time she was scanned and biopsied, it was in her liver, thyroid and pancreas, and maybe her brain. The scan didn’t confirm that, but her daughter said she had become very disoriented.

She lost a great deal of weight, mainly, because she wouldn’t eat. That meant she wasn’t strong enough for cemotherapy. I think she may have stopped eating because she just wanted it to end.

She went into hospice care on July 17th and died July 22.

She never told me. Her daughter and brother both said she probably just didn’t want to worry me. I understand she wasn’t herself, but she knew she was dying. Maybe she thought I’d try to push her to get treatment, but I wouldn’t. I’d probably do the same thing.

I would have gone down to help, even if just to keep her comfortable, had I known. I could have prepared myself. As it is, I’m having trouble just believing I’ll never talk to her again.

I know, that’s the first stage if grief. And I’m angry. Did she think I’d desert her?

Her daughter tells me there won’t be any kind of service. She was atheist, so she didn’t want a religious service. Her family, except for her daughter, all live outside the US, and, the saddest part, I was her only friend.

When I think about how lonely she must have been in those last few months, I have to cry.

2

I am so very sorry. If your friend was disoriented, it’s possible she might not have even thought about telling you, or forgotten once she decided she would.

Please be gentle with yourself.

3

What an awful shock for you. Such a sad thing, I’m so sorry for your loss.

4

I’m so very, very sorry.

5

So sorry. Perhaps not telling you was her way of avoiding the sad goodbye, for both of you.

6

I really don’t have anything helpful to say. I can’t imagine being in this position.

So sorry for you, picunurse. I hope you can find peace.

7

I’m so sorry for your loss. It sounds as though she was not herself in those last months, and that does make it a little easier to understand that she didn’t tell you. Perhaps she just never felt ready to have that conversation. Whatever the case, I wish you healing and happiness in the memory of your friend and the good times you spent together.

8

{{{picunurse}}}

:frowning:

9

I’m stunned for you picunurse.

There’s terribly sad news, and there’s unspeakably sad news and just thinking about how that must be for you makes my chest tighten and my ears burn. I’m so, so sorry for your triple grade shock and the empty space it leaves.

It’s impossible to not wonder how it was your friend didn’t tell you and it’s something you’ll never know; what you do know, and what you’ll always know in your heart, is that it wasn’t because she didn’t love you enough. She’s your best friend; you understand each other. Maybe she was never the one to say goodbye first.

The great stories that make our lives often have curious endings and for some, spending the precious last stages of life alone with family is a choice and a privilege. My sadness for you not having the chance to do or say anything, is truly heartfelt.

Talk, cry, sit in stunned silence. We’re here.

10

Sorry for your loss, picunurse.

11

:frowning:

12

I’m so very sorry for your loss, picunurse - perhaps she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to have to say goodbye, and wanted to avoid all that sadness.

I hope you find the strength to get through this, and perhaps some time later you can think of something good to do as a memorial to your friendship.

13

Thank you all.
I’m now going to ramble a little and tell you something about her.
She was strong and very independent throughout her life. She was smart and funny. Her sense of humor ran a little dark, but so does mine.

She changed her name when she was, I think, 13. She hated the name she was given. Since they’d moved, no one knew her so, she reinvented herself. She used her grandmother’s name, Belle.

She was the only girl in a 6 child family. She was a middle child, two older and three younger.

Her mom wasn’t much interested in raising children. So Belle took care of her younger brothers and her step dad.

Her real dad realized he was gay while his wife was pregnant with the last boy. He left her with 5.5 children in Paris. They had only been in France for a few months, so they didn’t know anyone and didn’t speak the language.

Her mom expected they’d all be geniuses. She made the boys believe they were “SPECIAL,” and didn’t have to live by the rules of society.

She had issues. She used drugs, but, it was the '60s and '70s, who didn’t? Unfortunately, it caught up with her and she went to Club Fed for a few years.
I lost touch for a couple years, but got a travel nurse job less than 100 miles from her little corner of the club. She didn’t want me to, but I went to visit anyway. It was good for both of us.

Her daughter resented her lifestyle. I can understand that. She was strong and independent, and she expected her daughter to be the same.
When she went to prison, her daughter was a teenager. She resented the fact that Belle chose the life she did over her.

Her mother died at 95 from alzheimer’s. Dad died years earlier from the effects of Agent Orange.
All six children have had some form of cancer. The boys all had much less agressive forms and all are five year survivors

Once, we went to a friend’s farm to ride horses. While we were there a truck loaded with hourses going to the dog food factory stopped at the farm. The owner of the farm would often buy the ones that shouldn’t be euthanized.
There were three on that load. They were all under 8years old. One was a Morgan stud. He was pretty wild and had a mind of his own.
Another was a beautiful Appaloosa that was as gentle and well mannered as any I’ve ridden.
The last was an American Saddlebred 3 year old mare. She wasn’t trained, so someone threw her away.
The farmer said he wouldn’t be able to rescue any that day so Belle bought the Morgan and the Appy, I bought the Saddlebred. I named her Lady Day, after Billie Holiday.
Since I lived in Seattle and they were in Missouri, I gave her to Belle. She’d send pictures of the progress “my” horse was making.
All three were boarded at the farm. Eventually, when she couldn’t keep them anymore, he bought all three.

I understand her not having friends. I don’t “take” to people either. I have plenty of aquaintances, but only a few friends. My husband and Belle were the top two.

Ok, that’s enough. I’ve cried, and poured my heart out a little. Maybe I should try to go back to sleep.

14

I’m so very sorry for your loss.

15

Oh, damn, picunurse, I’m so sorry.

I’m coming to understand that I’m like you - many, many friendly acquaintances, but precious few close friends. I’m also finding that as much as I am ready, willing, and able to give support and love to my friends, there are limits I don’t choose. Sometimes, it’s what my friend can bear. Sometimes, it’s the consequence of disease. Sometimes, it’s the random nature of the universe. It’s still hard to bear the thought that someone we love is suffering, we have the ability to comfort them, and for whatever reason, we can’t.

I grieve with you.

16

picunurse, I’m so very, very sorry.

17

So sorry for your loss. :frowning:

18

I’m sorry to hear that, picunurse.

19

I’m so sorry, picunurse.

20

I’m sorry ** picu **. :frowning: