It's really no surprise that one of the phases of grief is denial. When someone is gone, we don't miss them if they're off to the supermarket or the movies. We just wait for them to come home. It's even easier to dwell in denial when someone lives further away. I mean, I love my grandfather, but I didn't speak to him everyday when he was alive. For months I kept having to remind myself that he really was gone. I still forget sometimes.
So it doesn't seem real yet that Bettina isn't around anymore. She was doing pretty good a few months ago. Sure, she was on oxygen, and I did know how quickly a person can go when they just aren't getting enough air, but she was so sure she was going to get better. And she was so young, too young, to have to deal with death. Diagnosed with breast cancer at 37, a recurrence at 40, another recurrence at 42. She lived the expected 5 years. And that just sucks.
You have to understand that Bettina was not someone you would expect to fade quietly. She was the clown, the crazy lady who drank beer while in hospice and had a going away snow tubing party. Somehow she just GLOWED with life. No really, her brother has a picture with the light shining behind her, and that's really what she was like all the time, shiny.
I'm not really sure how she would want to be remembered. She didn't want to die, so it was hard to talk about honoring her life. From knowing her, I would imagine she'd like something like a round a beer and a newly planted tree, or an annual naked run through the woods on her birthday (in winter). She loved nature more than most people, and she could keep even the least resilient plants alive despite a pretty mobile lifestyle.
So cheers, Bettina. This beer's for you. Safe travels to your new home. We love you.
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