I saw Berta's Mom last Thursday. I hadn't seen her in eight years. Since Berta's funeral. We were both in the baking aisle at the grocery store, walking towards each other. She didn't recognize me at first. I knew immediately who she was.
As we walked towards each other I could tell there was no familiarity in her eyes for me. I smiled big at her. I kept my ear-to-ear grin plastered on my face until, finally, she saw who I was. She was shocked but I also think she was pleasantly surprised. See, I was her daughter's best friend. We went to high school together, had our first crushes together, our first hickeys together, our showers and our weddings were shared. We had our babies together. We had our marriages together. Our joys, our sorrows. I loved Berta. She loved me. We also had our ups and downs, like all friends do. We pulled through our ups and downs except before she died.
Berta was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the same time my Mother died. I remember Berta coming to my Mom's funeral, her hair hurting because she had just had her first chemo treatment. She lost her hair right after wards. When her hair started coming out in clumps she had her husband shave her head. Her Mom bought her some goofy wigs to wear. We took pictures of the wigs and laughed about their color and texture. She ended up just going bald, wearing hats or scarfs. She was brave.
Berta did all the chemo. She did the stem cell treatments. The treatment worked. She fought hard and went into remission. She started coaching her son's soccer team. She wanted desperately to see him grow up, graduate, fall in love. But the cancer came back. Aggressive treatment was started right away but the standard protocols didn't work. Her brother was a match so she went to Dallas to have a bone marrow transplant.
Berta never came home. The transplant didn't work; she died in Dallas. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to hold her hand and tell her how much she meant to so many people.
While Berta was in remission we let some stupid conversations get between us. I had gone through a divorce and had remarried. Berta was in a marriage that didn't make her happy. We didn't see much of each other and spoke less often than we had in our entire relationship.
Seeing her Mom brought back all of those old feelings of guilt because of the way our relationship ended. I miss her so much. I can still hear her voice on the phone. "Hey there" she would say when I picked up the phone. Her words ring in my head.
Her Mom told me about her son. He was tall and broad. He wants to be a pilot. He has a girlfriend. His father moved him out of town after she died. I didn't get to see him grow up.
After we spoke for a few minutes I could see her eyes tearing up. This conversation was just as painful for her and it was for me. She reminded me of Berta; I reminded her of Berta. Time to go. Gotta clean the house, run some errands, get back home.
I don't know when I will see her again. I don't know if I will ever see her son again. I hope I do.