The Bell Tolls for Karen

So I have a friend from early childhood - kindergarten, in fact, named Karen.  She was always mature, and nice, and an all around mentsch. I think we were in every class together in grade school -- she was always taller than the rest of us, and remained that way through junior high.

In 6th grade I had to make the biggest decision of my young life.  I still recall how fraught with drama it was for me, even though its laughably minor when viewed through an adult lens.  Turns out I was a gifted young flute player in the school's band -- it just came naturally to me. Our instructor, Mr. Lutri, a diminutive Italian guy, nominated me for the All County Band -- and he only sent a student there every 5 years or so. I was proud and excited, but also anxious to be recognized for more masculine pursuits.

I tried out and made the volleyball team. This was no big deal, of course, but it was to me -- I never had a chance at basketball, and baseball, my best sport, wasn't represented. I was going to be a benchwarmer, but was still proud. But there was a problem -- volleyball practice, all mandatory, clashed with the All County practices, of which there were 4 before the big concert.  I had to choose.

Mr. Lutri was devastated that it was even a choice. The gym coach, Mr. Allison, couldn't have cared less. I agonized -- it was much cooler to me to be on a sports team. I remember Karen counseling my 6th grade self -- with wisdom beyond her years. She told me I was already all boy, didn't need to prove anything with stupid volleyball, and also, as a fellow flutist -- what kind of dumbass would pass up a chance at All County?

And so that was my call, and it was correct. I sat among far more talented musicians than I was. It taught me that I was only a big fish in the tiny pond of East Broadway School -- I wasn't going anywhere near to Julliard. And the show was great. They recorded it, and made a vinyl LP. When I played it months after the show, I could make out my father shouting "More! More!" during the sustained applause following our performance.

But back to Karen.  We last saw each other at high school graduation. I was headed to Miami -- she to upstate NY to study at one of the SUNY schools. We connected on FaceBook -- she had moved back to LI with her college sweetheart, a fellow named Rich.  They had a house, and dogs --no kids -- and traveled the world together.

About 6 years ago, Karen messaged me -- could we talk on the phone? We could, and had a delightful conversation -- sharing the tales of the burden of failing parents, and all about life. Turns out she had been a career insurance claims manager in the tri state area -- while I had a career on the opposite side -- plaintiff's lawyer. I could tell she must have been a nightmare opponent to the Northeastern Bar -- she was smart and savvy -- we laughed about all the bullshit in our field.

She told me she was delighted for me to see my family and friends -- she told me she always dug me and admired my kindness to all. It was a mutual admiration society meeting -- we looked forward to sharing some cocktails at the next high school reunion -- though I told her I was skipping number 35 but might make it to 40 -- my friend Kenny is pressuring me to go.

And our FaceBook relationship continued -- I admired her and Rich's world travels, and gourmet meals all over the US, and her complaints about business travel --getting stuck in less than glamorous places.

Monday there was an awful post -- from her husband. Karen had suffered a massive heart attack and was in the ICU at Stony Brook Hospital. Rich is a great writer, and shared progress. Yesterday he reported it was nearly the end -- they had revived her from the medically induced coma, and she was essentially gone. He wrote about how he was devastated -- if she breathed without support, they would move her to hospice for the short time she'd have left before she died.

The FB comments flowed. Most told Rich he was in their prayers. One classmate, Nancy, a tough ass Italian who inexplicably became a born again Christian and moved to trailer South (really) kept going on and on about how we all (Karen's friends) needed to plea to Jesus for a miracle. Karen is Jewish.  Some of the fellow Jews seemed to say -- what the hell  -- if it works, why not?

Doesn't seem to be working. Rich commented this am that things were the same -- he was bracing for the loss of his soul mate and life partner.

So it's just another sign post on the road of life -- a reminder to savor each day like a large buffet line at a fine restaurant -- taking only the quality items, and leaving the crap (anxiety, sweating of small stuff) on the tray.

Tonight, D1 and Joey will be meeting Wifey, D2, and me for our secular shabbat, in the Gables.  D1 and Joey have begun alternating their Friday nights with Joey's folks and us.  We're going to Ruth's Chris in the Gables -- our standby, Christy's was sold out.

I will have a martini and toast Karen.  Not gone yet, but will be very soon, it seems. My life was richer for having had her as a friend.