One Moment, She was Fine

What’s on my mind? An old friend died, a couple of weeks ago. It was actually a couple of years ago, but who’s counting? I didn’t see the obit, and knew no one in her circle. She just ... died.

I told two women who’d vaguely known her. Neither knew she’d died. Each said the right things even as I said the wrong ones. As much as I admired and respected her, she had deep problems she’d hidden until our friendship neared its end. 

I once invited her and another woman on a brief vacation. With neither warning nor provocation, the first woman - the one who died - suddenly went berserk. One moment, she was fine; the next, she tried to kill us. 

In the middle of a not-unusual conversation about not-unusual topics, she grabbed a kitchen knife, began screaming, raised it high, and ran straight toward us. Terrified, we locked ourselves in a bedroom. 

Fully clothed, my friend and I jumped into the bed, trembling in fear as the the first woman raged and pounded on the door for what seemed like hours - until suddenly, she stopped.

There was a phone in the bedroom; I could have alerted the front desk. Someone would most certainly have called the police, who would have come instantly. I couldn’t bring myself to do that to a friend, but nor could I understand why she’d snapped. 

Opening the door after a very long silence, we found her on her back, unconscious. Knife still in hand, she’d peed her pants. My second friend cleaned her up, put her in fresh clothes, gave her a pillow and a blanket, and left her on the floor, still unconscious. 

In retrospect, we should have summoned medical help. We were too afraid to move her - afraid she’d come after us, again.

My friend, wiser than I, methodically searched for a bottle, finding it behind a stack of towels in the main bathroom. Although I’d known the woman who’d tried to attack us more than three years, this was my first realization she was an alcoholic.

Later, came other alcohol-related clues ... Her hospitalization for the DTs; the throat ulcer that nearly killed her; her frightening, irrational rudeness to another friend when I foolishly tried to repeat the ruined vacation. After that, we lost touch. And now she’s dead. 

I wish I’d known, sooner. I could have scribbled a few words of condolence on the online obit - now closed for comment.

Over the past few days, I’ve been surprised to find myself grieving. There hasn’t been a day since reading her obit that I haven’t thought of her with fondness and sadness. She was a wonderful woman - tough, smart, wise, giving. 

She volunteered selflessly for the poor and down-trodden on Vancouver’s mean streets, asking nothing for herself. She was supportive when I went through a life crisis years ago, and others turned their backs. Friends like that are hard to find, and harder still to lose. I miss her.

©  Nicole Parton, 2020