One of the Best Things

My friend BJ died some years ago after a battle with cancer.  Prior to that battle, she’d had other battles in life. Battles she had won.

Before I’d met her, she had already battled obesity. When she told me that, I admitted my surprise.  I would not have guessed that weight had been a challenge for her.

When we met it was actually because she was taking on a new battle.  Alcoholism. That first day we met she said, “I’m an alcoholic, and I need treatment.”  She got sober.  Then she became a mentor and a sponsor to many others who were fighting the same battle. She was wonderful.  And pretty quickly, she was a valued contributor to the treatment program.

Over the years, she and I became good friends. I valued her as somebody who would always be real, and always tell me what she really thought.  Apparently, others valued her for these same reasons. That, and a propensity for sharing humor, whipping up delicious foods, and nurturing an impressive garden in a community soaked under 200+ inches of rain a year.  BJ cared easily for everyone she met.  And it showed.  People warmed under her gracious encouragement.

A couple years after she’d gotten sober, BJ showed up at my office one morning.  She was pouring a cup of coffee when I walked out to the waiting area. She looked up and said hello.  And the look on her face was different. Something wasn’t okay.  We walked into my office and closed the door.

That’s when I found out about the cancer.  She’d just been to the doctor and had gotten the news.  She expressed a mix of both devastation and pre-game locker room confidence.  She was terrified; but she was going to beat this thing.  Not ready to die yet; she was going to be around long enough to be a grandma. Cancer didn’t realize who it was dealing with here.

The next few times we visited were at her house or in her hospital room.   The battle wasn’t going well, and her strength was waning.  She couldn’t be out much due to a severely impaired immune system. We talked a few times on the phone when she couldn’t risk being exposed to any germs from visitors.

The last time we talked was one spring morning. She had called my house to visit. There were long pauses in her speech, and I guessed that she was having to pace herself in order to breathe.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said simply.

I was quiet.  Not knowing what to say.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be around much longer,” she added.

I said something like, “Okay.”  It didn’t matter what I said, and we both knew it.

“It’s interesting, actually…. Lately, at night when we’re watching TV…. my mom and dad are sitting in the living room with us… I’m talking with them…. They’re actually easier for me to focus on and talk with…. than my husband is.”

I was about to say something about not having realized that her parents still lived here, when she continued.

“The thing is, Mom and Dad… have been dead for years now.”

I put my hand up to rub my forehead.  I said something else meaningless to let her know I was listening.  And that there was nothing of meaning that I could say.

“So I figure I must be gettin’ ready to go,” she repeated, in her simple, matter-of-fact way.  “But I didn’t want to go… without saying goodbye.”

I thanked her for that, and said that I would miss her a great deal.  I told her that my life had been enriched by her friendship.

“Oh, well,” she said self-deprecatingly, and broke off laughing, and coughing.  She said she wanted to thank me, too.  And we got sentimental for a second or two.

Then she said, “You know, I used to think alcoholism… was the best thing that ever happened to me… It forced me to get my relationships right…. with my family, and my friends… But also my relationship with God… and with myself… I don’t know that I would have done all that… if I hadn’t had to in order to get sober.”

She paused for another second.  And I waited, with my fingers still pressing against my forehead, and tears fighting to escape.

“But, I gotta tell you… I think cancer has been even better…  It’s brought all kinds of blessings into my life… It’s brought me friendships… and deepened my relationships even more… I have a stronger relationship with God… and I know where I’ll be when this is all over… Who’d ‘a thought that cancer… would be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me?”

I told her I loved her.  And she said the same.  I said that I would miss her.  And would look forward to seeing her again one day.  She laughed, and said she’d look forward to showing me around.  I thanked her for calling me.  And we said goodbye.

And after I hung up the phone I just sat there for a while.  It seems like most of the really big life lessons have been handed to me by other people over the years.  And I knew that I had just been handed another one.  I just had to try to wrap my head around the idea of cancer bringing blessings.

It was a week later.  Maybe two.  When I got word that BJ had died.  And I think I may have actually smiled when word came.  In my mind I heard again, “I know where I’ll be when this is all over.”

I still miss her.  I think of her often.  I imagine she’s been busy tending to people and gardens in her new Home.  And over the years I’ve often told her story to people who’ve needed to hear that blessings can come out of challenges.  That sometimes the blessing isn’t so much in the victory, but rather in facing the challenge honestly and bravely.  And how remarkable it is that what initially seems devastating can actually result in hope, and blessings.

It’s one of the greatest life lessons I’ve learned so far.  It was handed to me one spring morning.  By my dear friend, BJ.

Frank—Thanks for letting me tell your mom’s story.  Ruth