The months of fall 1968 were the halcyon days of my life. I was 17, a senior in high school and ready to begin my new adventure as one of the “top dogs” at my high school. I attended a catholic boarding school in central Minnesota. It was located on the campus of a small Benedictine women’s college and convent mother house. I was president of my senior class and had the lead in my school play. I had a wonderful best friend, Peggy, who was the school’s star basketball forward and soprano soloist. We developed that intimate, close relationship common among adolescent girls and amplified by the boarding school setting. I was 1200 miles from my family and went home to visit once a year. In boarding schools you eat, sleep, study and live together with your best friend.
Peggy and I spent hours riding a tandem bicycle we borrowed from the Benedictine monastery. We rode this bicycle built-for-two all over the campus singing show tunes and hymns in harmony and at the top of our lungs. On weekends we would hike out in the woods to a retreat center for the nuns that had been closed up for the winter. We were intoxicated by the glorious Minnesota fall. We had found a private place to “play”, swinging and singing on an old porch swing and trampling the piles of fallen leaves. Our futures were bright and we shared how we planned to change the world. Anything seemed possible.
One night in late October I was shaken awake by Peggy. She was terrified. She told me that she had a dream where I had died. She held my hand is so tightly it hurt. None of my reassurances comforted her. She would not let go of my hand. She even had to hold on to me when she used the bathroom. So, I took the bed next to me in the dorm room and pushed it next to my bed. I reassured her that I was all right. I promised that I would hold her hand all night long. Eventually we fell to sleep.
At 7am the next morning the bell rang to wake us for the day. We got up and started to get ready for the walk to breakfast. Without warning, Peggy fell back on the bed and seemed to be coughing. I spoke to her and I got no response. I gently slapped her face to wake her and told her to get up. There still was no response. I began to get frightened. What was the matter? I went to her and bent over and tried mouth to mouth resuscitation. It was the only thing I could think of doing. I tried this several times but there was still no response. I ran down to the room of the sister on duty and knocked and knocked. I called through the door for the sister to come quickly that something was wrong with Peggy. Then I ran back to my room. Again, I tried mouth to mouth. There was no change in her condition. I just heard a hollow return of my breath and a gurgling sound. Several minutes later the sister arrived. She took in the situation and said, “I didn't know it was this bad.”The Dean of Students arrived and the ambulance and I was removed from the room and sent to the school. The clamor and the level of the intensity of anxiety within the school felt like chaos. I pleaded with the school Principal to let me go with Peggy and the paramedics. I had been there when Peggy collapsed and I felt that I could be helpful as they took care of her. She told me that it wouldn't be necessary. Many minutes later the Dean of Students got on the loudspeaker at the school and made the announcement, “Peggy has died." No intro and no follow-up. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of me. I was in my body and yet out of it. I could hear the cries of all those around me but they seemed muffled and far away. I simply knelt down and observed the chaos silently as though I were watching a movie. Of course, this couldn’t be real. This is not how I learn that the one person most important to me is gone forever. The nuns ordered everyone to calm down and go to class. I went to class but I just sat there. In a short period of time, the Dean of Students came and removed me from the class. She told me that I was going to accompany her and the Principal of the school to Northern Minnesota. Since I had been with Peggy when she died, it was necessary that I meet with Peggy’s parents and tell them how it happened. I had never met them. I got into the car with the Dean and the Principal and rode 5 hours to meet with Peggy’s family to tell the story and answer their questions. I have absolutely no memory of that visit. Yet, I vividly remember driving back to campus that night in a dark car with two nuns. It was silent. There was the glow of the dashboard lights. We were surrounded with miles and miles of darkened farmland.
The next weekend the entire school took the trip up to Grand Rapids, Minnesota for the funeral. School buses were filled with young women on their way to sing the hallelujah chorus for their classmate’s funeral. For me, reality shifted. I called home to my parents but they were 1200 miles away and living in a different world from me. Where there had not been great communication at home in the first place, this situation provided additional obstacles.
My classmates and I were told to continue our studies and get back to a normal schedule. I kept my emotions inside. One Saturday, I walked down to the old retreat house by myself. It was coming towards winter and the leaves were no longer brilliant, the sky was overcast, and it was cold. I sat on the porch swing and sang the songs that we had sung together, but solo. On the hike back to the dorm it began to snow.
It is difficult to describe my emotions and state of mind during this time. After a few months some of my classmates reminded me that it was several months ago that this happened and it was time to move on. In my English class we were required to keep a journal. I filled pages of that journal where I wrote over and over again, "I can’t stand this loneliness." We were required to turn them in to be graded every few weeks and I was hoping to get a response or an acknowledgement of my grief. When the journal was returned the teacher had written in the margin, “This is so sad.” There was no follow-up or additional response. I felt pretty much on my own in dealing with my grief. I did not believe that anyone could understand how I felt. The proverbial straw the broke the camel’s back occurred one evening in March. While brushing my teeth I accidentally dropped my toothbrush on the floor. This incident seemed so terrible that I began to cry and I could not stop. I cried for hours until I was exhausted.
It is interesting to me that during that time until graduation many of my classmates would single me out and ask to meet privately. I hadn’t had a close relationship with them and yet they needed to speak with me. They shared their overwhelming grief and response to this death. I was surprised that even though their relationship with Peggy seemed less intense than mine, this experience had a profound effect on them. That that winter one of our classmates attempted suicide by jumping from the second balcony and in a nearby theater.
I couldn't simply replace my best friend. Although I developed close relationships with other classmates subsequent to Peggy’s death, I was a changed person. My senior year was colored by this experience. The emotional distance between my family and me was widened.
Reflecting back on this experience I can see things with a different perspective. 40 years later my experience and interaction with death have changed my understanding of grief. I have lost my parents, a brother, a young niece and several friends and family members. I chose this experience because it was my introduction to the reality of mortality. It is also complicated by what appears to be Peggy’s premonition of death. But it is also interesting to me that when it came time for me to write this assignment I still had such resistance even 40 years later.
Looking back and considering how this could have been handled differently I believe that several skillful grief counselors should have been made available to us and we should have been compelled to attend. I should not have learned of my friend's death via the loudspeaker at the school. The trip to Peggy’s parent’s home ignored the significance of my loss and my grief experience at that time. I do not condemn the way the nuns handled this experience. However, this high school was on the campus of the Benedictine mother house and a Benedictine women's college. I cannot believe that there were not resources available or people knowledgeable enough to address the needs of the students. My family was distant and out of the picture. The sisters were uncomfortable, unskilled or unwilling to address our grief. The prevailing attitude was, “Out of sight, out of mind.” My English teacher dropped the ball and when she read my journal and didn’t speak to me. I was literally begging for help and this was an opening for someone to hear my cry.
It would have been helpful to all of us if the school had allowed us to acknowledge and learn to live with our loss. If we had been able to plan our own grief service at the school and develop a personal memorial to our friend it could have helped us come to terms with this loss as a community. It would have been wonderful if we could have included something at our graduation to note Peggy’s absence.
My ministry is affected by the total of my life experiences. I believe I bring a wealth of life knowledge to my encounter with my patients. I pray that I listen with a loving heart to those suffering from a loss. I do not need to share my experiences with them. I want to listen to their feelings and concerns with empathy and understanding. I remember my anger when my grandfather told me that he lost a friend so he knew how I felt. I thought it was impossible for him to understand what I was experiencing. I know that it is necessary to recognize the unique grief of each individual person. I am also aware that the death of a person and the grief and the impact of a person’s death cannot be measured by the closeness of the relationship. Attentive listening is the best gift at this time. It is also important to remember that the introduction to death and grief felt by the young person can be intense even if the deceased is an acquaintance. This encounter strikes at the core of the young person's understanding of reality.
I also have learned that time will not eliminate the grieving process. It is interesting to me that couple of years ago one of my classmates wrote me to tell me that she had obtained a copy of Peggy’s autopsy. She emailed a copy to me. It amazed me that more 40 years later she took the effort to obtain this document and that it was that important to her. It also amazed me that I was so angry at her for doing it. I deleted the message.
