Mourning my friend Debbie
Posted: November 30th, 2009, 11:12 pm
I would have posted about this in the LTE, but it's a bunch of posts about nothing, and this post is significant. It's about friendship.
When I came back to North Carolina two years ago to reactivate my law license and interview for jobs, my mom told me that the choir at her church would be singing a piece that I had sung with my choir in San Jose. She also told me that she had contacted the choir director and told him that I would be singing with his choir on that Sunday. So, I did.
And that is where I first met my friend, Debbie Hartsell. She welcomed me and made me feel at home. Debbie made me laugh through the entire rehearsal, right up to the performance, and then she sang the entire piece perfectly with her lovely soprano voice.
When I got on the plane to return to my divorce in California, I realized that for a few hours that December weekend, I had enjoyed myself. And that singing with the choir at Jarvis UMC was "my Christmas." I couldn't wait to return to Greenville to sing with the Jarvis choir.
And so I joined the Jarvis UMC choir the following August. Singing is a way for me to let my spirit soar. I love being with this group. I especially enjoy being a part of the soprano section, sitting next to Rolvix's grandmother (one of the sweetest women I know) and in front of Debbie (one of the funniest women I know).
Debbie laughed at everything--herself mostly. There were times when all I had to do was look at her, and a giggle would bubble up. We had a choir member who always arrived late. The first time he was late, Debbie whispered, "Well, at least he got here on the right day." Thereafter, when he would walk in late to the church service, Debbie would try to catch my eye. She knew that I was going to burst out laughing, or cry trying to hold it in.
She recently told my 12 year old Christian that if he'd been a smoker, he wouldn't have had a problem when the acolyte taper burned out on him in church. "You could just whip out your cigarette lighter," she dead-panned to him, and then she told him that she had never touched a cigarette, and that she didn't want him to ever smoke one either.
Debbie told me two months ago that it was my fault that her cell phone no longer worked. "I was calling you when I dropped it," she said.
And when I missed a church service recently, she asked, "Did you miss me on Sunday?" When I explained that I didn't go to church that day, she replied, "I know. Did you miss ME?"
On Wednesday night, Debbie ate dinner with her mom and her dad and her brother. She went home to rest, and planned to return to her folks' house for lunch on Thursday. But she didn't. Her brother went over to her house and found her on the floor. Debbie suffered a massive stroke sometime Wednesday night or Thursday morning.
I emailed my Mom about Debbie's stroke. She called me from Australia this afternoon to tell me that she was praying for Debbie.
I went over to the hospital tonight to visit her. As I walked in the room, I said, "Debbie, it's time for you to get up." Her brother Doug told me that she wasn't ever going to get up, that her brain was swelling, and that it was only a matter of time before Debbie left us. I could hardly believe my ears. Another one of the sopranos, our friend Jessica, a junior at ECU, was there in Debbie's hospital room. I hugged her. I went over to hold Debbie's hand. I told her that I loved her. Debbie took a few more breaths, and then she stopped breathing. Jessica came over and she and I continued to hold Debbie's hand. Debbie's childhood friend Laurie and Doug held Debbie's other hand. I told Debbie that when she let go of our hands, she could take Jesus' hand. Debbie's brother then called the nurse, who called the doctor who confirmed that Debbie had died.
I miss her so much already. I cry, but then I laugh as I remember Debbie.
Our choir has the biggest performance of the year coming up in less than two weeks. We're singing Handel's Messiah. I'm hoping that I can squeak out the music. I will dedicate this performance to the memory of my beloved friend, Debbie. I'm sure she'll be sitting on the front row up in heaven, giggling at us as we struggle through the high notes with our throats tightened with grief. Somehow, I'm sure that she'd want us to remember last year's performance, when our conductor's cell phone rang, just as he raised his baton to give the downbeat.
Thank you, Debbie, for bringing me laughter in the depths of my deepest despair, and for your friendship, which now bridges the mystical boundary between heaven and earth.
When I came back to North Carolina two years ago to reactivate my law license and interview for jobs, my mom told me that the choir at her church would be singing a piece that I had sung with my choir in San Jose. She also told me that she had contacted the choir director and told him that I would be singing with his choir on that Sunday. So, I did.
And that is where I first met my friend, Debbie Hartsell. She welcomed me and made me feel at home. Debbie made me laugh through the entire rehearsal, right up to the performance, and then she sang the entire piece perfectly with her lovely soprano voice.
When I got on the plane to return to my divorce in California, I realized that for a few hours that December weekend, I had enjoyed myself. And that singing with the choir at Jarvis UMC was "my Christmas." I couldn't wait to return to Greenville to sing with the Jarvis choir.
And so I joined the Jarvis UMC choir the following August. Singing is a way for me to let my spirit soar. I love being with this group. I especially enjoy being a part of the soprano section, sitting next to Rolvix's grandmother (one of the sweetest women I know) and in front of Debbie (one of the funniest women I know).
Debbie laughed at everything--herself mostly. There were times when all I had to do was look at her, and a giggle would bubble up. We had a choir member who always arrived late. The first time he was late, Debbie whispered, "Well, at least he got here on the right day." Thereafter, when he would walk in late to the church service, Debbie would try to catch my eye. She knew that I was going to burst out laughing, or cry trying to hold it in.
She recently told my 12 year old Christian that if he'd been a smoker, he wouldn't have had a problem when the acolyte taper burned out on him in church. "You could just whip out your cigarette lighter," she dead-panned to him, and then she told him that she had never touched a cigarette, and that she didn't want him to ever smoke one either.
Debbie told me two months ago that it was my fault that her cell phone no longer worked. "I was calling you when I dropped it," she said.
And when I missed a church service recently, she asked, "Did you miss me on Sunday?" When I explained that I didn't go to church that day, she replied, "I know. Did you miss ME?"
On Wednesday night, Debbie ate dinner with her mom and her dad and her brother. She went home to rest, and planned to return to her folks' house for lunch on Thursday. But she didn't. Her brother went over to her house and found her on the floor. Debbie suffered a massive stroke sometime Wednesday night or Thursday morning.
I emailed my Mom about Debbie's stroke. She called me from Australia this afternoon to tell me that she was praying for Debbie.
I went over to the hospital tonight to visit her. As I walked in the room, I said, "Debbie, it's time for you to get up." Her brother Doug told me that she wasn't ever going to get up, that her brain was swelling, and that it was only a matter of time before Debbie left us. I could hardly believe my ears. Another one of the sopranos, our friend Jessica, a junior at ECU, was there in Debbie's hospital room. I hugged her. I went over to hold Debbie's hand. I told her that I loved her. Debbie took a few more breaths, and then she stopped breathing. Jessica came over and she and I continued to hold Debbie's hand. Debbie's childhood friend Laurie and Doug held Debbie's other hand. I told Debbie that when she let go of our hands, she could take Jesus' hand. Debbie's brother then called the nurse, who called the doctor who confirmed that Debbie had died.
I miss her so much already. I cry, but then I laugh as I remember Debbie.
Our choir has the biggest performance of the year coming up in less than two weeks. We're singing Handel's Messiah. I'm hoping that I can squeak out the music. I will dedicate this performance to the memory of my beloved friend, Debbie. I'm sure she'll be sitting on the front row up in heaven, giggling at us as we struggle through the high notes with our throats tightened with grief. Somehow, I'm sure that she'd want us to remember last year's performance, when our conductor's cell phone rang, just as he raised his baton to give the downbeat.
Thank you, Debbie, for bringing me laughter in the depths of my deepest despair, and for your friendship, which now bridges the mystical boundary between heaven and earth.
