A Phone Call I’m Glad I Made

The call

How quickly one’s mood can change. When I got a Facebook message from my friend Beth asking me to call using the green photo button, I was in the middle of two other projects and really didn’t have time to talk. Beth had never called me from Wyoming before. I messaged back that I’d never called using Facebook before and didn’t know how or have the right equipment connected.

The next message gave me a number to call. I thought of putting it off, but I really was curious as to why Beth would call after only social media communication for so many years. Duh! I should have suspected. Beth had been fighting cancer for years. But since it appeared Beth was sending the message, it fooled me.

When I called, I was startled to hear a male voice asking if I were me. And it was bad news. He identified himself as Beth’s son and told me she had finally succumbed to the cancer she’s been fighting. I’ve known I’d have to get the news someday, and I was wondering how long Beth could hold out. Of course, although the news was bad, I’m glad I made the call. Suddenly my mood changed from being frustrated over an interruption in my work to sorrow for my friend’s family.

I haven’t seen Beth since she moved to Wyoming years ago. She is one of the only people where I live now that had met my son Jason. He and Beth’s son Matt had begun a friendship at a homeschool picnic that day. But it was short-lived since Jason died three days later in an accident. That picnic was the last time I saw Matt.

Growth of a friendship

Beth was active in the homeschool support group we’d joined that day at the picnic. The picnic was in August. We were getting ready to move into a new home we’d contracted to buy. The escrow on it would close in October that year, 1991. Jason had helped us scout the property and was looking forward to having a horse once we moved. But as someone once said, life is what happens when you are making other plans.

Beth and I began to work together a few years after we moved. I’d become a roaming homeschool supplier. Beth had opened a private school in Atascadero. She allowed me to keep many of my books on display in a room in her school. I paid her in books. It worked for both of us. Later I got a storage building for the books and Beth closed the school. But before that, we got to know each other much better and built a relationship that was stronger than before. Matt had grown up and I never saw him anymore.

While talking to Matt today, I knew he’d be facing a lot of hard work with the final arrangements. It was the first time for he and his dad to do this. We talked about what to expect since I’ve been through this several times.

The conversation

Matt explained how strict Covid regulations in the hospital where Beth died made it difficult for both him and her husband Steve to see Beth in the ICU. Only one was allowed to visit. Not one at a time, but just one.

Matt was finally able to get permission to say goodbye himself, as well, but only after some heated negotiation. Something is not right about a regulation that keeps a child or a spouse from saying a final goodbye to someone they love. To forbid it is cruel. This kind of goodbye is forever.

I found myself tearing up as we talked. I experienced the memory of my own grieving experiences as I listened to his story of how he lost his mom and of his last minutes with her. I’m glad I was able to be there to listen.

Matt’s a grown man now. I last saw him when he was a teen. We probably only said a few words to each other when we were introduced and then he and Jason went off to play. But even that long-ago shared experience connected us over the decades.

Grief is a universal experience

At times like this, I remember what a universal experience grief is. Individual experiences vary, but everyone feels something deeply when a close friend or family member dies.

People express those feelings differently, and a lot depends on the relationship the two people had. Were they close or estranged? Does one grieve the loss of a primary relationship one will miss every day? Or will years of guilt follow because of a broken relationship that was never healed?

Beth had two sons. Only one stayed near her. The other had separated from his family. Matt has been there for his parents — even moved across several states to help out after Beth became very ill. I can’t help wondering how his brother feels now that there’s no chance for reconciliation.

As long as two people are alive they can nurture and care for each other. They also have a chance to heal a broken relationship, to forgive or be forgiven. The next time someone that was once close dies, will you be left with grief or guilt? Or both? Or will you do what you can now, while there’s still a chance, to restore a relationship where one of you has hurt the other?

Though God led Beth and me in different directions over the past years, we stayed in touch. We knew what was happening in each other’s lives. We were close in spirit and friendship even though many states separated us. So my heart is heavy today. I will miss Beth. She was a special person who served many people during her lifetime. Now she’s no longer suffering and has gone Home.

I’m glad I called Matt back.