Dear Beverly

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On this day you are in my heart and on my mind.

         You remembered me.

Always.

It rained. 

It rained hard on the way to Newbury Park.

December 7, 2009, a day I will never forget.

“Come, Fran needs to see you.”

It was a simple message,

but its meaning was crystal clear.

She was dying; the cancer was back.

Worse, he had turned your son against you on Nov. 16.

I forwarded his email to you within minutes

of receiving it.  It broke your heart.

Please, let me respond, he needs to know the truth.

He needs to get his butt out there and hear it from Fran

before it is too late.

But you wouldn’t do it.

He needed to hear of the constant attacks.

He needed to hear it from Fran!

No, you kept saying no.

You didn’t want to hurt him.

Hurt him?

Gina Court, last “dwelling” on the right.

The rain fell in buckets.  Dark; gloomy.

The perfect day … in so many ways.

Fran set in a chair in the living room,

her back to the door, she was

weak, tired and with much on her mind.

She didn’t get up to greet me.

I walked around, leaned over and gave her a hug.

Hugged you too.   You smiled.

You were exhausted.

Between the never ending attacks,

the cancer and your own issues,

yes, issues, you were not looking well.

Pasty white; sad … beaten.

You and I would have lunch

and Fran would meet us around 2:30. 

It was all set that we would hook up

at the Stagecoach Museum across the street

from the mobile home park.

She had a doctor’s appointment at three.

You already knew what the news would be.

It was just a formality.

Before we left, she asked you to give us a moment.

You wandered off to your room.

She spoke of her fear for you.

She was direct, her meaning was clear.

She knew a storm was coming

and there was nothing more she could do.

She was also saying, in her own way,

Goodbye. 

The rain fell hard on the short drive.

Just getting parked and inside was

a task … not getting drenched.

We sat in a booth across from each other.

We chatted.  Small talk at first.

You ordered, we ate, we talked.

There was a lot on your mind.

You were lost and over-whelmed.

The storm was already here and you knew it.

You’d email me as soon as you had news.

You could have written it right there and then.

It was a long lunch,

so much to say; so little time.

The rain had stopped and you

could see clearing skies in the west.

Soon we sat in the car in the parking lot

of the historic Stagecoach Museum,

an old hotel on the route between

Los Angeles and points north.

It was a museum now for tourists.

There was a nice park there too.

We had sat there on sunny days and talked.

The years hadn’t been kind,

but your spirit was still there.

And you had the protection of your mother,

she gave you a place to live; shelter,

but that was about to change.

Your mother had much to say

about what he had done to you.

She was not in a mood to be charitable

or forgiving … she hated him. 

No bones about it … no mincing words.

Hate; hate would do just fine.

The rain had stopped; we talked.

We waited in the car; you smiled.

And soon, too soon, your mom arrived.

We got out, she got out and walked around

to the passenger’s side, you would drive.

I followed her, hugged her and looked in her eyes.

They smiled back at me …

I should have hugged her longer.

Hugged you too.   Kissed you.

Reminded you that you were not alone.

“I love you.” 

Should have hugged you longer too.

The sun was breaking through the clouds.

This storm was over; the rain was done.

You followed me north on Ventu Park Road

to the freeway entrance … both heading eastbound.

Up the ramp we went, I looked back.

You waved and smiled; Fran smiled too.

I waved, lingered a moment on your smile.

Glanced to the left to see what was coming.

The rooster tails flew from the cars scooting by.

The freeway was wet; dangerous … cars going too fast.

There was an opening, merged in and got up to speed.

Looked back, but you were gone; lost in the mist.

December 7, 2009, a day I will never forget.

It was the last time I saw Fran; your mother.

The news was not good that day.

Fran checked into the hospital the following day.

She died on December 16, 2009.

It was also the last day that I would ever see you again.

Sure, we would talk in the months ahead.

We would exchange emails; facebook “friends.”

But December 7, 2009 was last time I saw you.

It is … a day I will never forget.

Three years have past … the storm came.

You could not survive it.

Have a tune for you today … a sad one, sorry, but … there you have it.

Green Day; Boulevard of Broken Dreams

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will find me
'til then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah,
Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
What's fucked up when everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will find me
'til then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah
Ah-ah, ah-ah

I walk alone
I walk a...

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will find me
'til then I walk alone...