I usually spend many nights deciding on a topic for this column. I had no trouble this month. How to express the loss of two remarkable friends became my overriding need: one, Gail Seager, the other, my closest friend from childhood, Bernice. Losing loved ones becomes part of most people’s lives as they age. But this felt different to me. Each of these women brought a spark of light into my life that made them irreplaceable. That light has gone out.
Gail, my teaching colleague, my mentor and friend, added spice and wit to everyday events in the English department of Mountain View High School. She ran the department with a firm hand, but gave so much of her own time and energy to it that she attained a reputation as a teacher devoted to students and to a unique teaching style.
A tall, lovely woman with a wealth of knowledge, she made me aware of other cultures, driving me one evening to a very old and experienced Chinese acupuncture specialist in San Francisco. His exotic office became my entry to an ancient world.
Gail also introduced me and many others to the practice of Transcendental Meditation, another way to find peace in our chaotic times. I no longer use the meditation method, but I still feel connected to my friend who passed away in June. Her many students will remember her loving spirit.
I have shared my memories of Bernice, my childhood friend, many times, so you may realize what a blow it was when her daughter called to tell me she was dying. “I know she loved you and you loved her,” were her words as she gave me the news. Bernice and I were bonded from the age of nine to her last years. I had no sister, but she filled that role and more as we grew up together in a lower middle-class neighborhood of the Bronx.
We opened our hearts and minds to each other and dreamed the dreams of most young girls. We never lost touch until I moved 3,000 miles away. Over the years I filled pages with my letters to her, sharing my new life here in California. Both of us became English teachers, loving our profession which from our youngest years fulfilled our desire to reach out to young people and inspire them to study fine literature.
Two memories, amongst the hundreds, stand out when I think of Bernice. When Ron married, it was she who rushed over to me to wipe my brow and bring me a chair as I stood in a long waiting line to greet guests. She knew I was on the verge of fainting and needed help. Some years later she flew in from New York when my son Charlie died.
Her strength and compassion supported me as we cleaned out the hundreds of unread newspapers we found stored away in his closet. We pulled and dragged huge plastic bags down a flight of stairs, exhausted but feeling the depth of our love for each other in this time of sorrow.
Bernice, like Gail, was tall and lovely. She could be tough in her strong opinions, but she was also warm and caring, greeting friends with laughter and wit. Her death takes away a part of my past, but there is no one else I would trust with my memories.
The phone just rang again. Bernice died today.
