My Friend

I write this mainly for me as a remembrance and a process in grieving for my friend Rita.

I’d known her for less than a year. I joined the gym last July and started a water aerobics class. She was the classy older Afrikaans lady with the warm smile. She was friendly and we had a little small talk in the locker room but we were so vastly different.  Then, last September she fell and broke her leg. Some might say it was the start of her end but for me it was the beginning of something beautiful.

My missionary friend, Char, suggested we go visit her in the hospital. Since Mitch’s 5 month stay there the year before, Char was very sensitive to visiting those in the hospital, and so I went mainly to humor her.  What would an elegant lady 16 years my senior, really want with 2 American ladies visiting her in the hospital? She was a riot. She was feisty and independent, funny and endearing. Me, being the sensitive type (not), didn’t bring her flowers or juice or a magazine but rather a long pair of BBQ tongs to help her pick up things while she recovered. She loved them and used them often she told me last month.  Char and I found that we lived very close to Rita and took her on a few errands when she got out of the hospital. We then started visiting, first together and then separate. Somehow I ended up coming on Sunday afternoons, “family day”, when she said she felt the most alone.

Rita’s older brother had passed away 3 years earlier and over Christmas break, her housekeeper of 23 years became too ill to work and her only other brother died. Rita’s husband had died several years back and her step children lived in Australia. She had 4 nieces/nephews that lived 4 hours away but otherwise she had no family, she was missing her siblings and was depressed and lonely. We started doing lunch on Sundays and ended up talking about everything. The day she started smoking in front of me, I knew we had crossed a threshold. We just clicked. We talked about family and our pasts, our successes and our failures, relationships, God, fear, hopes, etc. We started working on her financial issues, going through all her misc. “stuff” to prepare for moving to a smaller place that would save money but also allow for her dogs. Did I tell you she was a HUGE animal lover?  She had 2 dogs (Fritz and Stormy), fed the neighborhood birds (mainly pigeons) and even left a piece of dog food out for the ants. She never killed ants but would sweep them out of the house. LOL! We even discussed the possibility of moving in together, something she said she didn’t ever think she would get along well enough with anyone to even think to ask that. I never thought I would find someone I might even considering doing that with myself, especially one who wasn’t a missionary and wasn’t American. But as I said before, God had blossomed an amazing and deep friendship in a short amount of time.

Rita kept calling me her “angel” because with all the work transitions and the lack of family to care for, I had TIME. I told Rita that I wasn’t her angel but she was my “answer to prayer”.  I had prayed for a friend. Not to slight any of my married missionary friends, but I needed someone who I could spend time with without worrying I was taking them away from their family time or commitments. Rita was someone I could go deep with on any subject or just laugh with and be silly. Someone I could be “cheeky” with but also brutally honest.  Someone I could sit on the bed with and watch TV (criminal shows) and talk about “stuff” serious or not so serious. We had a friendship that where we could be vulnerable enough to ask for help and gracious enough to share our appreciation. She was someone in the end I felt honored, not burdened to spend 12 hours/day by her side in the hospital advocating for her needs.

Rita’s leg surgery from September had not taken and she actually walked on a broken leg for almost 6 months before they went in and put in a clamp in March. Rita was strong, active and determined. She did her therapy exercises religiously. She had the most gorgeous legs even at 70 that even I was jealous. And she was so flexible she could bend fully at the waist and pick up something on the ground. I moved in with her for a few days when she was released from the hospital just to make sure she was okay. We changed her dressing (35cm) daily and it was healing nicely. The doctor actually had stopped putting the dressing on after her 10 day post-surgery office visit. Then, what was evidently an infection in the bone, rose to the incision and a week after that office visit we went back to the doctor and she was immediately admitted back to the hospital. One thing and then another stacked against her and she never came back home. 

A couple of weeks before she died, Rita had lost motor control of her arms and legs. She was restless and couldn’t sit still for more than 5 minutes at a time. She was sleep deprived and unsettled. She had said that whenever I was around, she felt peace. We had had discussions about Jesus before. She had been raised in the church, christened and confirmed. I told her that it wasn’t the actions as much as the personal relationship with Christ. The peace she felt was Jesus through me. That particular morning I asked her if she had ever asked Jesus to be the Lord of her life. She said no but said it was something she wanted to do. I told her I would pray and she could repeat after me and if she disagreed or was confused about anything to just stop and we would discuss it. We prayed. We declared also that Satan had no power or place in that hospital room and in Jesus name had not authority to torment her. No giant smothering of peace seem to pour down at that moment but as I look back over those last two weeks, a slow release of fear and a more peaceful spirit emerged. A few days before she died, I told her that I loved her, I would miss her terribly but if Jesus, who was that presence of a complete peace, came and said come, that it was okay. After that though, Rita got her fight back. We knew the odds were not in her favor but I prayed and she fought. She started eating again and making progress with respiratory therapy. The doctor had written her off but Rita didn’t give up. The night she died, the nurse said she woke up and chatted with her and ate a lot of her pureed food and ice chips. In the early hours of the morning her lungs and heart started giving out. She went quickly and I feel with peace. The days preceding she seemed not to have anxiety or fear. I am grateful she didn’t have to suffer longer but I miss her deeply.

Her funeral was today. It was good to get to share the stories. How when she thought she was going to go to Johannesburg by ambulance she got all her make-up out and had to have a friend put it on before “going out”. Rita always wore bright red nail polish (“nail varnish” here) and had make up on and her gold jewelry when she went out. We even got permission to get them done in the hospital (except one finger had to be clear).

In her honor today I had my nails done (not bright red though) and wore make-up to the funeral. Rita loved wearing high heels (hated being in flats when she was recovering) and stylish sundresses. She loved to eat watermelon and lemon meringue pie. She hated liver and butternut and never drank alcohol. She loved animals to a fault. She had a HUGE heart and gave away her inheritance to those less fortunate. Rita was Radiant, Independent, Tender hearted and an Animal lover! I am blessed by having known her. Although I still have to work through God taking her so quickly, I am amazed that He knew that an older, feisty, totally opposite Afrikaans lady was just the answer to prayer that I needed. God is amazing! And if He was able to bring this depth of love into my life over such a short period of time, I’m sure He can handle the rest of my needs that lie ahead.

Love and hugs Rita! Looking forward to laughing with you for eternity!