Friday, December 12, 2014

On Losing Beth

So, I lost one of my dearest friends to cancer in October and I really didn’t want to write about it because, well, if you’ve read this blog at all, you know I am no stranger to tragedy. And heartache. And I really didn’t want to write one more post about another tragic heartache.

But, I find myself so angry. All. The. Time.

I am trying to get myself in the Christmas spirit; I bought my tree and a beautiful wreath. I’m trying to decorate and start my baking. All things I love…yet, I don’t see any point in it. Why bother? Things that held joy make me mad or worse, apathetic.

I am mad at the season; at people; at God. I ran out of church last week after yet another message telling me that I have not, because I ask not. Or I am asking wrong. Or God just doesn’t want to bless me right now. And, by the way, your back is messed up because you’re not repentant to God.

Okaay.

It is really, really difficult to hear that God doesn’t love me because I am a sinner, when the whole point of my Bible says that God loves me because I am a sinner. I am a sinner. And why doesn’t grace apply to me? Why? Why does the American Church keep telling me I’m not good enough for God?

And I know it seems like I am digressing, but I’m not. It all seems to be one big package, at least in my mind. Because after I ran out of church and was driving myself home, I kept asking God why am I here? Why did He take Beth instead of me?

Why?

It’s a tough place to be when you think you don’t matter. When you think (because you have been repeatedly told and/or shown) that you don’t matter; when everything is pointless; when the simple joys of life evade you; it’s tough.

You see, Beth and I used to talk about things such as these. Our friendship was intentional and purposeful and I could say these things without her recoiling in horror, or worse, placating me with platitudes. She got it. She understood. And she could tell me when I was being overindulgent or lend that hand when I was cut deep.

I am cut deep and she is not here. And, it just makes me so sad. There is a hole a mile wide in my heart and how will it ever be filled again?

Beth gave real friendship. I can’t remember a time, in 20+ years of knowing her ever feeling as if I didn’t matter to her. She was never cruel. Or jealous the way our sex can be. She never talked behind my back. Well, she did, but it was with positive words about me.

That is so rare, right?

In my anger and sadness I have 86’d some people right out of my life and I’m feeling pretty good about it, too. Why and how did I let these people who don’t see me and care for me into my life? I am good natured and easy going and allow people their faults, as I want them to allow me mine. But some people see that as weakness. And because they see me as weak, they treat me in ways that aren’t always nice. They pick on me and strut around like the school yard bullies they really are. What a waste. This behavior is beneath them, but more than that, it makes me realize what a gift Beth was; what a blessing her friendship to me has been all these years.

And it makes me want to be intentional with friends who do treat me well; who would never stoop to such lows; who are nice, not mean. Simple really.

But I know I can’t fill that mile wide hole with friends and think everything is going to be okay. I can’t replace Beth with a new friend. There is no way…she is irreplaceable.

Have I said how much it hurts?

At her funeral, my Gaslight family was there. That is where I know Beth from, a theatre I worked at for ten years. And these people are home to me. They grabbed me and hugged me and let me cry on their shoulders. These people weren’t just work friends…we were so in and out of each other’s lives; we had get togethers, and parties, and weddings, and babies, and shared our lives in one big dysfunctional family. Another in our family has lost his wife to cancer and now we will gather for another funeral this weekend. So, we also grieve together. But, it was great to be among these people again. It was great to belong again. It was great to know that I mattered and that I had a place among them.

I think we all have that need to matter; to have purpose. When that is shaken and questioned, it rocks us to our cores. I Googled ‘what do you do when you feel like you don’t matter’ this week and found a blog by Scott Ginsburg and he says, “Moments of non-mattering are positive reflections of your inherent desire to make the world better…Look: I’ve been there. Inconsequentiality is a bitch. It’s a form of spiritual bankruptcy that feels like an earthquake to your heart. The good news, it’s also a wakeup call that mattering is like oxygen to your soul, and your tank is just a little low right now.”*  He had some good tips…get rid of the people who make you feel invisible…done! And take responsibility for feeling like you don’t matter. Ouch. But, okay.

I’m sure this too will pass…I will rebound as I usually do. But missing Beth is going to take a lot out of me. It has taken a lot out of me. I have screamed at the top of my lungs on more than one occasion and have cried myself to sleep on several others. I found a Peanuts ornament I bought back in July and sank to my knees. Beth loved Peanuts.

I think the best way to end is to just tell you again how cool a person my Bethy was…and to tell you how much I hurt and how much I miss her and how much my world has changed.

And, I think of my son. How did he do it? How did he get through losing Phil? And Aaron? And Stephen? How did he do it without losing his mind? I am in awe of him.

Simply in awe.




*http://www.hellomynameisblog.com/2010/11/what-to-do-when-you-feel-like-you-dont.html

4 comments:

  1. I'm so sorry for your incredible loss and pain. Mine comes in the form of Liny; there will never be another like her, but you have me and I have you. We matter😀

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  2. Thank you, Mirna! You matter to me...a lot. As I struggle, it is so good to know you are there and struggling with me. You and Jim have always rejoiced when I rejoiced and grieved when I grieved. I couldn't ask for better friends.

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  3. I'm sorry you're hurting, Susie. Your friendship with Beth sounds so beautiful.

    My favorite writer as a Christian was Philip Yancey. I felt like he really got down in the mire, wrestled with issues, and bared his soul, doubts, and confusion. Have you read Where Is God When It Hurts? It helped me through some dark times.

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  4. I have, but I should probably re-visit it. His books do have a way of making sense of these things. Thanks for suggesting it.

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