Friendship, Life and Loss 2.0

A childhood friend passed away earlier this week following a courageous, five-year battle with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, otherwise known as ALS or Lou Gehrig‘s Disease, after the American baseball player who died from the disease in 1941. I hadn’t seen her since high school, and even in school we didn’t really run in the same circles. We did, however, belong to the same synagogue, which meant that we were both members of what I liked to refer to as “the Jew crew” – our Jewish peers from our school and other local schools, people with whom we would spend inordinate amounts of time during the high holidays, both inside the synagogue and between prayer services, simply because we all knew one another so well, and often, because, thrown together as we were due to the circumstances, we didn’t have any other choice.

I remember those occasions fondly, all of us huddled together, searching for a place to talk and catch up, where we wouldn’t get yelled at for disturbing disturb the congregants still participating in the service. I can remember the games of three-penny hockey and paper “football” that we would play in the youth lounge. Most of all, though, I can remember how I knew that whenever I managed to sneak out of the service, I would always find my female friends in what was known as the “ladies lounge”, a room off the restroom with stools that spun around and a long counter. To this day, I can’t recall anyone in there but us girls, squashed along the couch, the counter, and the windowsill, gossiping and hoping for a chance to spin on one of those coveted stools. And of course, Debbie plays a prominent role in all of these old memories.

Now she’s gone, and even though I knew she was sick, even though I knew how imminent the end was during these past few weeks, and even though I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in at least twenty years, I feel such sadness and frustration over her death, over the fact that someone whose image is indelibly woven throughout my childhood memories has fallen victim to such a tragic disease at such a young age.

It has been truly amazing to see the way my former classmates have rallied around, keeping one another in the loop via email and Facebook, offering information, updates, and support as we mourn our friend together from far flung corners of the world. Not that I would expect otherwise, but modern technology allows it to happen so quickly, with updates sent and received in real-time, allowing us to comfort and be comforted by others who knew the person we lost. Clearly, more than twenty years on and we are still very much a class, no matter where we are in our lives. It is inspiring to see everyone come together in times of crisis, and when I think of the connections that have been strengthened as an outcome of this tragedy, the friendships that may have been rekindled, it makes me think that maybe, just maybe, a little bit of good has risen up from this senseless, painful loss.

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*This post is dedicated to the memory of Deborah Schapiro Horn, a woman who clearly touched the lives of all who knew her, whose courage to fight a battle not of her choosing, will hopefully make us all pause and take stock of our own lives and to appreciate all that we have.

Zichrona livracha – May her memory be a blessing.

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