A few months before Ellen died, our son posted something on social media about her having lung cancer.
This prompted an old friend of our daughter Liz (who died from an overdose in 2006) to reach out to Ellen via email.
In his message, he begged Ellen’s forgiveness for what he felt was his role in Liz’s death. The day before Liz died, she was on the street in a strange town with no place to go and suffering from withdrawal. She called him for help. Even though he was hundreds of miles away, he was able to find her a place to crash for the night and he sent her drugs to help her get through withdrawal.
The next day, Liz was found dead on the floor in the bathroom.
Ellen’s response was simple and eloquent.
“You should not to feel guilty about Liz. She was an addict who always found a way to get drugs. I know that you were trying to help her. Liz lived you and you loved her.
All that’s left is love. Try to think of this when you think of Liz.”
It took years before Ellen and I could think of Liz without feeling sad. But finally we could talk about her without losing it. We could smile over the good memories and commiserate over the bad ones.
In the end, we mostly thought about how much we loved Liz.
Now that Ellen’s gone, as I think about our lives together and what remains I am hanging onto these words.
The stuff we owned, the worries we shared, the joys and heartbreaks we endured. These all seem so insignificant now.
All that’s left is love.