Just stopped by today
to say that you
are remembered.
Mi Amor, you remembered me.
Always.
During the afternoon of
June 4, 2012
my friend Beverly called
me on my office phone.
She was upset.
The money that her mother
had left her was gone.
She couldn’t account for
it;
she was unable to remember
where it had gone.
Her brother, as I was to
learn,
in the aftermath of their mother’s death
offered to help her set up a
trust,
but was prevented from doing so.
It came as no surprise
that
she couldn’t remember
what had happened to
the approximately $150,000 …
she was heavily medicated and,
as later revealed in her autopsy report,
Beverly was suffering from heart, kidney and liver failure.
Although denied an email account
and even a rather mundane thing like
a facebook page (forcibly deleted),
Beverly was given access
to all of the alcohol she could consume.
She was destitute and
felt
very much alone.
I said to her that
we
could figure it out.
Calm down.
Those words ring hollow
now.
She had already
made up
her mind.
We talked for a bit and
concluded
with a reminder that
she was not alone.
“I love you,”
is all that
I could offer.
A minute later
the phone
rang again.
She said,
“I just wanted
to hear
your voice one more time.”
I thought nothing
of it
at the time.
She had done that before;
it was her nature.
The phone rang
again.
It was a hang-up.
Again … another hang-up.
Again … another hang-up.
It then went silent.
Beverly then proceeded
to
take her life.
Her body was found
the
next morning … it was too late.
The Orange County
Sheriff-Coroner
ruled her death a suicide
from the combined effects of:
quetiapine
(brand name: Seroquel),
levetiracetam (brand name: Keppra),
fluoxetine (brand
name: Prozac)
and norfluoxetine (brand name: Seproxetine).
No one called me
to give
me the sad news.
Her funeral was on June
21, 2012.
No one called me.
On her birthday, July 16,
I did not receive
a phone call from her.
It was her nature to do
so.
I was worried,
but
without email
(her account hacked,
monitored and then
eventually deleted)
and a
phone number,
there was little
I could do but wait.
By the evening
of August
13
I had grown frantic.
I went on line in hopes
of finding a “home phone”
in Irvine, or failing that, an address.
As I typed her name
in
google:
B E V E R L Y C A R V A …
suddenly google completed
the inquiry with
Beverly Carvajal Obituary.
I was stunned.
I could not get my head around it.
Then I looked at
the
date, June 5,
and realized,
much to my horror,
what she had done;
what the
phone call
was all about.
me to
say goodbye.
During the days
that
followed
I was inconsolable.
I cried 10,000
tears.
I was angry.
I was hurt.
at what had
been
done to her.
to the
side of the road
and just break down.
from
the grief.
but I was helpless
to help myself.
so much to
bear.
remembrance
book.
and
only one picture showed up,
that atrocious one used with her obituary.
It didn’t do her justice.
so
alone at the end.
and grief that I decided to start
a blog that I would visit
every day for one
full year
and remember her.
her
life would be celebrated
and I, as one who loved her,
would find in that
celebration
a path for my heart to heal.
inside of me flowed out
upon these pages
during the past year.
The anger.
The hate.
The bitterness.
It had to all go.
It consumes.
Everyday for one full
year I posted comments,
tunes and pictures.
I celebrated her life.
I said everything I had to say.
But there is so much more
to say about Beverly;
about how wonderful
and loving she was.
I said everything I had to say.
But there is so much more
to say about Beverly;
about how wonderful
and loving she was.
When you google her name now
there is a flood of pictures of her.
The hate.
They are gone.
The heart is healed;
the
tears have dried;
the grief subsided.
here in
my heart.
for
these daily posts
to come to an end.
and
celebrations of her life
will be noted on the page below.
are
free to add their
own pictures and comments.
but nevertheless
you are welcome to do so.
Bev
Sam
Beverly
Beverly AnnSam
Beverly
Beverly Ann Kegley
Beverly Carvajal
Beverly Ann Carvajal
Beverly Ann Tribbey
and remembered.
She is not alone.
She is loved.
He called you Sam.
How odd a nickname for such a pretty girl.
“Hey Sam, go out and play.”
“Sam, clean that room.”
“Please,” he didn’t have to say.
Reluctant for the chore, but you adored the man.
So off you’d go for the one who called you Sam.
“Sam, such a lovely smile you have today.”
It would grow brighter with his voice.
“I love you daddy.”
“I love you, Sam.”
That’s all he had to say.
And then the cancer came.
Gone and you just a child of twelve.
It could never be the same.
No one to call you Sam.
No sound of “Sam” to bring a smile.
No “Sam, clean that room” today … or any other day.
One day there. One
day gone.
Lay bare the heart ... and cry you did.
Such a heavy load to bear.
No one to keep the boys at bay.
No one to teach you this or that.
No one to say: “I love you, Sam.”
“I love you, Sam.”
The loss, it marked you well.
A wound not seen, but there, a heart not whole.
A week? A month? A year?
Could he have tarried just awhile?
Only those who took the time,
Who stopped and sought to listen.
They too could hear the whisper in your heart.
The need. The
need. The need.
The need to be just Sam.
And hear without condition,
“I love you, Sam.”
“I love you, Sam.”
He called you Sam.
How odd a nickname for such a lovely woman.
