My Betsy May
After more than a dozen missed calls and a sinking feeling that she needed me, we connected. She had been arrested and taken to the State Hospital South. On the phone, she said, "Please Kathy, I need to be rescued. Please come quickly and rescue me!" Tears streamed down my face has I felt the pleas of her desperate heart and knowing full well, I couldn't rescue her from the sentence she was forced to serve but I could rescue her in other ways, in the same ways she has rescued me.
Betsy May, May as we called her was the most unlikely friend a person could have but she was my friend. I went to her at the State Hospital South as soon as I was allowed to and when they walked her into the tiny visitation room under surveillance, she fought the tears welling up in her eyes. One of the few moments I believe her Schizophrenia was quiet.
"Why did you come all the way down here to see me?" She asked.
"To rescue you, that's what friends do. They stay close by in the good times and the bad. I could never forget you." It had been some time since we had seen each other.
"Oh please don't. I feel so forgotten." May replied as we sat in the cold visitation room.
May mostly lived along a blurred edge of what most of us would call reality. Life happened to her and it was more than she could manage. Upon news that her very famous, Hematologist husband had cheated on her with another nurse, she packed up her car and left him, a brave and courageous thing to do, but she never left her car either. May was fiercely independent and extremely smart.
We enjoyed many outings to the Dollar Store, the Thrift Shop, dinner out on rare occasions. We did our best to keep her warm in the winter and well fed throughout the year. She was a gypsy soul and wandered, so it was through prayer and chance when we could connect. Three times, she stayed put in a rented apartment, a borrowed trailer and her stay at the mental hospital. I secretly loved these periods of time because I knew she was safe and warm.
We met May on a stormy night at a Maverik gas station, just before Christmas, 21 years ago. I introduced myself, bought her a hot chocolate and we were fast friends. We said goodbye to May on a stormy Sunday afternoon, just before Christmas at a Maverik gas station on the corner by my house. Her car was broken down and for two hours she had been there without a soul to stop and help. When Shelbie and I saw her, we pulled in beside her, assessed the situation and purchased the fluids she needed for the car. The three of us, under the hood until some kind men came to use their muscles to get the rusted parts loosened, so we could get her on her way. I kind of think this was the kindness of God to orchestrate our last goodbye in such a way of great remembrance. Before we left her that afternoon, I bought her some hot chocolate. She spoke of her plans to head to Arizona for the hard winter months. We hugged her goodbye and said we would see her in the Spring.
May did leave for Arizona that following week. In Salt Lake, she was involved in an accident. The minor injury she sustained still warranted a trip to the hospital where she suffered a cardiac arrest. They resuscitated her and kept her on a ventilator for two days until she passed away on December 30th.
Her body remains at the morgue; in the 'lost and found'!
The thing is, she isn't lost to me...I found her so long ago but more importantly, she found me. After 30 days, if a family member hasn't claimed her, she will be Warded the State and her body will be cremated and the ashes held as property of the State until a blood relative claims her. This breaks my heart in ways you can't even imagine.
I found her obituary in the local paper but it only included her birth date and death date but entire 89 years of living had not been witnessed by the world that kept her on the fringes. I felt like I wanted to write her an obituary that honored the deep way in which she was loved by us. I wanted to at least let my little part of the world know she had a home in my heart, though she lived in her car. She was an amazing, intricate woman who I understood through and through and loved deeply. I am blessed to have known her.
The following is the obituary I wrote for her though I could write so much more.
Helen Elizabeth (Betsy) VanSchoonhoven was born June 5, 1931 in Bogota, New Jersey. She died December 30, 2019 in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Sometimes, in our promise to bear one another's burdens, we travel to lost and forgotten places on the fringes of reality, where we have a holy responsibility to behold the children of God who are the precious souvenirs of a hard world. There is much to be learned about the suffering beyond the pale.
We met just before Christmas, 21 years ago at a gas station on a stormy night. She drove a large white car with an intriguing pattern of rusted metal and missing parts. The rear end sat low to the icy pavement, apparently loaded with something of weighty significance. Several small pieces of orange twine were knotted together to form one long strand which ensured the tight fit of the trunk to the less than perfect body. The windows were crammed with hoards of belongings. Empty plastic milk jugs slouched beside the headlights on the oversized bumper, wired in place with care so as not to be lost.
The dented door creaked open and out lumbered a bundled woman just beyond middle age. She had clear grey eyes. Layers of brown hair fell around her soft, deep wrinkled face. Despite her twisted, arthritic hands, worn and calloused, her nails were neatly polished. She was remarkably clean and well-kept considering the appearance of her surroundings. It was obvious that this car was her home and did in fact, carry something very important; the life of one of God’s special daughters.
Betsy May, May as we called her was the most unlikely friend a person could have but she was my friend. I went to her at the State Hospital South as soon as I was allowed to and when they walked her into the tiny visitation room under surveillance, she fought the tears welling up in her eyes. One of the few moments I believe her Schizophrenia was quiet.
"Why did you come all the way down here to see me?" She asked.
"To rescue you, that's what friends do. They stay close by in the good times and the bad. I could never forget you." It had been some time since we had seen each other.
May mostly lived along a blurred edge of what most of us would call reality. Life happened to her and it was more than she could manage. Upon news that her very famous, Hematologist husband had cheated on her with another nurse, she packed up her car and left him, a brave and courageous thing to do, but she never left her car either. May was fiercely independent and extremely smart.
We enjoyed many outings to the Dollar Store, the Thrift Shop, dinner out on rare occasions. We did our best to keep her warm in the winter and well fed throughout the year. She was a gypsy soul and wandered, so it was through prayer and chance when we could connect. Three times, she stayed put in a rented apartment, a borrowed trailer and her stay at the mental hospital. I secretly loved these periods of time because I knew she was safe and warm.
We met May on a stormy night at a Maverik gas station, just before Christmas, 21 years ago. I introduced myself, bought her a hot chocolate and we were fast friends. We said goodbye to May on a stormy Sunday afternoon, just before Christmas at a Maverik gas station on the corner by my house. Her car was broken down and for two hours she had been there without a soul to stop and help. When Shelbie and I saw her, we pulled in beside her, assessed the situation and purchased the fluids she needed for the car. The three of us, under the hood until some kind men came to use their muscles to get the rusted parts loosened, so we could get her on her way. I kind of think this was the kindness of God to orchestrate our last goodbye in such a way of great remembrance. Before we left her that afternoon, I bought her some hot chocolate. She spoke of her plans to head to Arizona for the hard winter months. We hugged her goodbye and said we would see her in the Spring.
May did leave for Arizona that following week. In Salt Lake, she was involved in an accident. The minor injury she sustained still warranted a trip to the hospital where she suffered a cardiac arrest. They resuscitated her and kept her on a ventilator for two days until she passed away on December 30th.
Her body remains at the morgue; in the 'lost and found'!
The thing is, she isn't lost to me...I found her so long ago but more importantly, she found me. After 30 days, if a family member hasn't claimed her, she will be Warded the State and her body will be cremated and the ashes held as property of the State until a blood relative claims her. This breaks my heart in ways you can't even imagine.
I found her obituary in the local paper but it only included her birth date and death date but entire 89 years of living had not been witnessed by the world that kept her on the fringes. I felt like I wanted to write her an obituary that honored the deep way in which she was loved by us. I wanted to at least let my little part of the world know she had a home in my heart, though she lived in her car. She was an amazing, intricate woman who I understood through and through and loved deeply. I am blessed to have known her.
The following is the obituary I wrote for her though I could write so much more.
Helen Elizabeth (Betsy) VanSchoonhoven was born June 5, 1931 in Bogota, New Jersey. She died December 30, 2019 in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Sometimes, in our promise to bear one another's burdens, we travel to lost and forgotten places on the fringes of reality, where we have a holy responsibility to behold the children of God who are the precious souvenirs of a hard world. There is much to be learned about the suffering beyond the pale.
We met just before Christmas, 21 years ago at a gas station on a stormy night. She drove a large white car with an intriguing pattern of rusted metal and missing parts. The rear end sat low to the icy pavement, apparently loaded with something of weighty significance. Several small pieces of orange twine were knotted together to form one long strand which ensured the tight fit of the trunk to the less than perfect body. The windows were crammed with hoards of belongings. Empty plastic milk jugs slouched beside the headlights on the oversized bumper, wired in place with care so as not to be lost.
The dented door creaked open and out lumbered a bundled woman just beyond middle age. She had clear grey eyes. Layers of brown hair fell around her soft, deep wrinkled face. Despite her twisted, arthritic hands, worn and calloused, her nails were neatly polished. She was remarkably clean and well-kept considering the appearance of her surroundings. It was obvious that this car was her home and did in fact, carry something very important; the life of one of God’s special daughters.
Betsy May was my cherished friend. She was a brightness of hope and no ordinary woman; she was a special angel, seemingly
overlooked by life; a kind and loving woman I will never forget. And though at first glance, it would seem we were as opposite as two people could be, we needed each other and we were more the same, than different. She will forever be loved and deeply missed by our family.
Here are some other pictures of May. I am happy that her spirit is at rest now and reunited with her parents and siblings whom she adored. Her brother George died in 2009 and from what I read in his obituary, he adored his Helen. I know she is happy and whole.
Here are some other pictures of May. I am happy that her spirit is at rest now and reunited with her parents and siblings whom she adored. Her brother George died in 2009 and from what I read in his obituary, he adored his Helen. I know she is happy and whole.
Love.
ReplyDelete