Not Classified as Suicide

My Best Friend killed herself.

Oh, it's not labeled suicide; her death certificate claims she died of complications
brought on by her diabetes. But she killed herself.

I attended the funeral. I had been given the wrong time so I'd be late, since I was her Best Friend. Her daughter, (her worst enemy and my nemesis) was managing the event.

I had no doubt that this was not death by natural causes, but I didn't say a word.

Not out loud.
But inside.

I shed honest tears, but said nothing, and after the putrid ceremony,left.
I let the days pass, saying nothing. But I know why and how my friend died.

My best friend had married very young to an older man who could 'help her in life'.

If he was capable of love she didn't receive it. Nor, did she give it. For her, love was an unopened flower.

She had children, and invested herself in them, especially the daughter.

The daughter would be the person she wished she was. The person with education and opportunities. A woman who wouldn't have to marry an older man with money to escape the condemnation of poverty.

My best friend had been good, insuring her children had everything. She sent them to expensive private schools, hired tutors if required. She paid for extra classes so that they would glide into the very best High Schools.

My Best Friend had her own business. She met many people, and maybe could have loved a few of them if she wasn't married.

So here she is, with a daughter in the best High School who, she suddenly learns, is ashamed of her.

A daughter who leaves her out of her life, who sees no reason to tell her anything. A daughter who goes day to day, being driven to school, being driven home, then hiding in her room to avoid her mother.

My Best Friend tried, but everything failed, and her daughter went off to college as far away as possible.

When she came home on vacations she would spend time with her friends. It was only 'by the way' my Best Friend learned her daughter had 'met someone' and was engaged.

My Best Friend wanted to meet this man, and her daughter was vague about when.

As My Best Friend loved to entertain and had been somewhat of an event planner, we spoke of the wedding. Where, and when and how, and had gotten close to confirming the ideal venue, menu, and guest list.

Not hearing from her daughter for a time, my Best Friend rang her, to learn that she married last month. A small Civil Ceremony. She and her husband would be coming down in a few months. She gave her mother permission to have a small reception at the house.

I found out about this when I asked my Best Friend the question; "Why are you crying?" as I stopped by on my way home.

It wasn't good that the 'reception' would be held in the yard of her home, but that could have been born if the daughter hadn't demanded a man my Best Friend particularly loathed, be the Master of Ceremony.

Her daughter knew how her mother felt about the man. We all did. All of us who knew my Best Friend were aware of this.

However, the event went as her daughter demanded. I, being the mother's best friend, was kept to the far periphery.

I think I partially appear in one of the two dozen photographs.

It was a horrible affair, but her daughter took a kind of pride in the fiasco, because it would be attributed to her mother, not to her.

And then she and her husband left.

And that was it.

Her daughter, who had gone to the best schools, who had gone to college, married a man who was streets and lanes beneath her.

A man who wouldn't have been invited to the house when she lived with her mother.

She, this privileged darling, had not gained a college degree, she had taken some hourly paid job. It was the kind of job my Best Friend hired someone to do.

So My Best Friend had sacrificed her life for of her children. She'd stayed in a loveless marriage. She let chances pass her by as men she loved in her heart married others.

And now, the 'reward' of being a faithful wife and good mother was that her daughter dropped out of college, married a nobody in a civil ceremony.

Exactly what she feared would happen if she, my Best Friend, had left her husband for that handsome man who wanted her for herself.

It was shortly after that she was diagnosed with diabetes and put on a diet.
She didn't strictly follow it. She did make some efforts to substitute a sweetener for sugar, but not much else.

She began going to Church.

About a year after her daughter's marriage she got up, ate nothing, drank nothing, went to Church, took communion, came home, and went into a diabetic coma.

She died a few hours later.

The funeral had to be postponed until the daughter and husband could arrive. The the daughter would do all the arrangements, insuring that it would be the worst funeral she could organize.

I never told anyone she committed suicide.
I never speak of her.
All our 'mutual friends' are gone, for many were really her friends or my friends, and there never was a sharing.

I think of her often, and talk to her in my mind, sometimes, in my voice.

I know.
I know that she chose the 'cleanest' way out of an unlivable situation. I don't need to tell anyone, I know, and my knowing is enough.