Dear Betty....

Dear Betty,

You have touched my life in more ways than you can possibly imagine. When I first met you I looked at you as an older lady and really did not take the time to get to know you. Months went by and I would smile at you in passing, but I never really took the time to say more than hello and goodbye.

When I had my accident in March, after a couple of weeks I was finally able to call in to work and it was your voice I heard on the phone. You were so kind to me. Caring, and concerned you really wanted to be sure I was ok.

I called a few times during the 2 months I was out and each time your friendly voice would greet me. You kept me up to date on all the happenings at work. You were so good about that, always in the loop and keeping everyone informed.

When I returned to work, I was sequestered to softlines and that is where we became fast friends. You ran that fitting room like a tight ship. You could hustle through there and at the end of the evening you were always so helpful.

I loved our chats about nothing. One time when thunder shook the whole store, you looked at me, eyes misty from a distant memory. "My Great-Grandmother used to call these storms Dunder-Boomers..." Every time I hear thunder I think of the wistful look on your face as you spoke of your great grandmother.

One day, I heard you took a fall. You busted your teeth right through your lip. You said you had tripped but the store said you fainted. We were all so worried about you. We told you to see your doctor to be sure all was ok.

We all were quite frustrated with you for being so stubborn, Betty. I wanted to drag you to the Dr. myself if only I knew how to coax you into my car! Watching you go from bad to worse was so hard. We all cared so much for you. We wanted to see our Betty zipping around the fitting room again. Instead we watched you hobble around and it broke our hearts to see you suffer.

We were relieved to hear you finally went to the Dr. Lots of stuff going wrong with you. We all did what we could to help you. You could barely stand and we understood even simple things like doing your dishes or grocery shopping were too much for you to bear.

As hard as it was for you, you allowed us in to help you. You were so surprised that we cared so deeply for you.

Getting to know you at work was great, but I am so grateful for the day we spent together at your home. I had made some meals for you and I'm glad you liked the tuna casserole and even though you were kind you didn't care for the vegetarian spaghetti. I bet you still have some of that in your freezer, don't you?

Walking in to your home was like stepping out of a time capsule and into 1976. Your home was as old as I was and nothing had been changed except the new stove in the kitchen. The carpet was orange and beige shag, the wood fixtures, the wood paneling...You still had your parents room set up as though they were still there with you. The dresses you sewed for your mother were beautiful. I know I told you this, Betty, but you were so talented. I only wish I could have been over more and you could have taught me to sew lovely dresses like the ones you made for your mother.

I was amazed at your book collection. You must have had over 1000 books lining your bedroom wall. All those Harlequin Romance novels, and Nancy Drew books. You treasured each one.

You were a true Cheapskate, Betty. You unplugged every appliance while not in use. You washed your plastic butter bowls and used them as tupperware. You even washed out your ziploc bags, something I never thought to do! You let the sun light up your home and turned on your lights at dusk. You didn't own an answering machine and your phone was an old corded rotary probably as old as your home!

I really enjoyed you taking the time to give me a tour of your place and the photos you shared of your parents and of you and your little brother as children. You treasured the simple things in life, and I felt the warmth of your smile as you told me stories of your childhood.

You were a young, naiive 13 year old girl trapped in a 63 year old body. It was hard for me to understand how you could be happy living all alone, never being married, never even having a boyfriend. Not one. Steve Carell has nothing on you, Betty. You could have been a nun! I had never met someone your age with such little life experience. No travels out of the country or even the state. You were content to spend your days at work and then come home and curl up with a good book or listen to the radio. Your tunes were old school, Betty. Not my kind of old school, but jazz and classical. You had this little tuner radio that barely worked. You were so proud of the console stereo equipped with a working record player. Even though it worked you rarely played it.

I tried to get you to sit so I could do your dishes. You were so embarrassed but you knew I wanted to help and you let me. You were supposed to be sitting but after 10 minutes you ended up right next to me drying the dishes. I was shocked you didn't have a dishwasher. It had been so long since I handwashed a dish. I loved how you kept giving me back dishes that had spots on them. You were so OCD, it cracked me up. Spots I could not see with my naked eye, but they were there!

I treasure the moment you shyly told me that where I was standing was where your mother stood and you would dry as she washed. It brought you back to a time when you were happy and it made my heart bounce with emotion as I saw your eyes tear up and your face brighten with your sweet smile. I know you adored your mother and missed her so. I was so happy to be there with you and hear you reminisce about her with me.

We talked about your love life, or lack of one. I was surprised you had not even been out on a date. I joked about hooking you up with your neighbor since he was single and always there to lend you a hand. You blushed at the idea and kind of laughed it off.

We talked about the pain of watching a parent die. In your case you cared for both of them until they passed. Your father passing in 2005 and your mother passing in 2007. We talked about the idea of ghosts and the afterlife and you admitted that there was a time you felt them in the home but it was brief and you knew they were with our Father.

We shared a lot of laughs and a few tears that day. I was sad to go as I didn't want to leave you alone. I wanted so bad to take care of you to let you know that you are never alone. I wanted you to feel loved and cared for. To know that you could pick up the phone and call me for anything and I would be there. I did tell you to call me and you took down my number. I felt awkward because I wanted to hug you goodbye but I was frozen because I was not sure what to do. I didn't have to think because next thing I knew your arms were around me and you hugged me so tight for almost 2 minutes. You made me tear up with that big hug, Betty. I was trying to play it cool and calm and then you go and hug me like that. I managed to keep the tears in my eyes even after I saw your eyes well up. These were happy tears...happy for a newfound friendship, happy because I helped you but I want you to know that you really helped me too.

I admire your spunk. I love your smile. I look at you as though you are a grandmother but I feel as though you are a child in many ways. So innocent, so unaware of the world around you.

You took care of your parents for so long, you forgot to take care of yourself. Going to the Dr was not on your priority list but you quickly learned that if you did not go, you would have 12 screaming ladies in red shirts on your back so fast!

When you learned you had to have open heart surgery and you had tumors on your liver, I was so devastated for you. That is how my dad passed away, tumors consuming his liver, he died so suddenly. I cried for you. I prayed so hard that you would be ok. I got scared too. I kept thinking about the pain I felt when I lost my Grandpa in that housefire, and then the fresh pain from losing my Dad. The thought of befriending someone in your condition scared the crap out of me. I didn't want to endure the pain of losing someone else I cared for. But I pushed those fears aside and reminded you I was here. I meant it. I would be there for you.

I laughed as we talked the night before your surgery. How you said it was really hard but you were setting your hair. I joked about you trying to snag yourself a Doctor. You assured me that even though you were nervous, you were at peace with everyting. We talked about the big "what if..." and your words reassured me at a time I should have been reassuring you. You told me that if you were to go you knew where you were going and you would be happy to go there. I told you not to be in a rush because we sure like having you around.

You made it through the surgery and I was so happy. I did not call you because I was afraid to disturb you while you healed. I meant to call after a week or so and next thing I knew several weeks went by and I finally made myself take a moment to call.

That was two days ago. Damn you, Betty for not having an answering machine. Your phone rang over 20 times before I finally hung up. I wanted you to know I was still here and that you were in my thoughts daily. I really should have called you sooner, but I admit I was scared. Scared to hear you in pain or that I was calling at a time when you were resting.

Betty, my heart is so heavy right now. My tears flow freely as I feel that hug you gave me, your fingertips holding tight against my back as you thanked me for coming over. I had no idea that would be the last time I saw you. I am just so sad that I didn't get that "one more time" we all seem to want so badly when we lose someone we care about.

I want you to know that you were somebody. You impacted a lot of us in ways that you never knew. I pray that you feel the warmth you spread to all of us. I pray that you know how much we will miss you. I know you would never want us to be sad but we are all feeling the loss of not having you here anymore.

I had to endure working tonight and it was tough. Walking into the fitting room, a place where we shared many light hearted chats. Opening the notebook and seeing your instructions written inside. Facing all the people who adored you and feeling that emptiness, the stark pain of knowing you were gone.

I was grateful for the moments I had company but I could not stop talking about you. I found myself going back to that moment in your kitchen as I washed and you dried and I could see how happy you were. Such a simple moment.

To think that you are experiencing a joy like none that can be described here on earth is comforting to me. To know that you are with your parents brings me peace.

I will miss you, Betty. I am missing you. It hurts and it sucks. I hate the pain that squeezes at my heart and pounds at my head. I hate having that lump in my throat that won't go away. I hate walking around like I am in a fog and I can't seem to get my thoughts straight because all I can think about is the pain of losing you and feeling like a big dork because to so many you were just a coworker and I should not be so broken up over this, but to me you were a friend. Someone I admired. Someone I looked up to and your life captivated me with awe.

I know God has an amazing plan for you in Heaven. I am rejoicing just knowing that you finally get to see that you did make a difference and I know you can see into all our hearts and finally know that you were loved and for good reason.

It was hard to open myself up to our friendship, knowing that this pain would be lingering around the corner, but I am glad I took the chance. I am a better person for knowing you, my dear sweet friend.

Your Friend,

Tamara