Every October, when I begin to see the pink ribbons and solicitations to sponsor runners in the Susan Komen Run for Life, I am affected by wistful memories of my friend Eileen, taken too early and too cruelly from this life. I knew Eileen for more than twenty years and now have missed her for more than ten.
Our friendship began one summer during my college years. I had stayed in the city to work second shift at Boston Gear Works. I soon befriended another college kid working there, also named Paul, who looked more like me than my own brother did. We began hanging out together, water-skiing during the day, and going for midnight Chinese food after our eight hours of loading gear and rack stock onto cutting and burring machines.
I soon met his girlfriend, Eileen. She didn’t like me much at first. I was tied into a party cottage down on the Cape on weekends, and before long Paul began to accompany me on some of the misadventures. He was faithful to Eileen, but she held me responsible for the lonely weekends when he wasn’t there. I couldn’t blame her. I finally won her over one day when I jumped into the water to help her stay in position until she, for the first time, successfully got up on water skis.
Paul must have learned his Cape lessons well--he wound up flunking out of college. A few months later, he was walking through rice paddies in Vietnam, and I didn’t see much of Eileen during his absence. When Paul returned intact, they married, and Eileen was hired as a reading specialist in the school where I worked. Over the next two decades, we moved on to other positions, but our friendship deepened; we didn’t have to see each often to maintain a rare level of trust and comfort.
Then Eileen got breast cancer—the most virulent strain. She was a petite woman, but she was a fighter. She endured torturous treatments, including the removal and irradiation of her bone marrow. A month before Eileen died, she joked about being flat-chested and contracting the disease anyway. And she winked at me and said, "Paul, I forgive you for the Cape."
Eileen‘s wake was the first at which I was unable to maintain my composure. Her husband must have seen my face contort as I attempted to stifle a sob. "She was suffering so much," said my former near-twin as he hugged me. "The pain is over now."
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14 comments:
This is a beautiful, thoughtful post. Eileen sounds like a woman I'd love to have know. I lost an older sister to breast cancer when she was just 36, and my mom to the same wretched disease many years later, and one of my nieces has been fighting it for some time now. We're way overdue for a cure.
J
What a lovely woman she must have been...and how lovely that you still miss her.
I remember you writing about Eileen before. I am so sorry that the world lost such a wonderful woman way too early in her life.
Paul,
I know you've written about Eileen before, but this really choked me up this time. My own sister 10 years younger than myself is fighting the most insidious form of breast cancer. It's breaking my heart to be so far away from her, and wishing it were me instead of her, who has yound children and so much of life in front of her.
On a happy note, I wish you had been there the day I tried water-sking for the first time. I was in Guadelope, and my only lesson on the boat was Git Up! Sit Down! Git UP! Sit Down! The Frenchman who was supposed to demonstrate, was obviously bored with his job.
I was the first one to go out, and go down I did- in short order. No one came out to save me, and to add insult to injury I was chided for abandoning my skis.
Needless to say, no one else on the boat decided to try water-sking after watching my misadventure. Ahhh, to have had a hero that day while the hubby drank beer and watched me spit water!
I've been enduring what to me is excruciating dental pain for two weeks, with more work to come. Throughout, I think of people suffering truly deep, chronic pain. The inner strength humans find in the face of long adversity is miraculous. I often read brave accounts of finding fuller meaning and more joy as a result of shattering experiences. I've read 'why bad things happen' writings. But I admit that deep inside I really don't understand why life has to have so much sadness. I haven't read the other tributes to Eileen and this was so moving. She was a remarkable person and many of her students must also miss her.
*debbi*
I remember reading about Eileen before. Thank you for sharing your memories once again.
When I move near the water (Long Island)...I hope to start to water ski again. I learned when I was 8...in Pensicola where my dad could stand in the water behind me and help me steady the skis. Last time was 3 years ago....I still love it.
Brent's mother, too...she fought it twice..giving in finally after all treatments did what they could..so sad, I miss her too..
I'm so sorry about the lovely Eileen. You never stop missing the livelier spirits in your life. And your friend Paul knew just how to comfort you. Sometimes it really is the kindest, if the most difficult thing to let them go.
(And thank you too, for those wonderfully kind words you offered me on Mom's behalf. I feel better about writing about her today, in no small part thanks to you and my (now her :)friends. It was a comfort.
A very sweet remembrance.
I came here with a more jovial attitude, Paul, this is very touching. thank you for sharing.
Be well, and thank you, thank you for the comment on my pix: and about the husband.
A beautiful tribute, Paul. Thank you for sharing it,
Vicky
Wonderful entry, Paul, very touching. Funny....I never would have pictured you, of all people, as a "bad influence":)
Chris
My Blog
What a great tribute and special memory of someone very dear to you! I can only hope that after I am gone, someone remembers me in such a fond, touching way. Nice!
Yes, this is a very touching post. I've lost some relatives to cancer--not any of my dear friends, though. It sounds like Eileen was very blessed, having been able to bask in the warmth of your friendship.
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