Last night, I was reading when I heard the old lady next door’s, BJ’s, car start. I didn’t think anything of it because she always came and went whenever.
This morning, I saw that my mailbox was open. Inside was a plastic bag with strange contents; girdles, panties, a change purse with a bunch of rings, and an Avon box with brand new jewelry in it.
I thought this was a weird thing. BJ always left things in my mailbox for me. Sometimes they were weird, but never this weird. I just figured that she just wanted to give me some stuff. I didn’t really look that closely.
I went to work and everything was normal.
I came home and saw two men in suits getting into cars parked in front of my house. I thought this was strange. When I pulled over to wait for them to leave, one of the men asked me if I lived there. I said yes and couldn’t shake the ‘something is wrong’ feeling.
I notice that another neighbor’s, Mark’s, truck is parked in her driveway. This isn’t unusual, but I still had an uneasy feeling. I got upstairs and called her house. Mark answered.
There was definitely something wrong.
I asked to speak with BJ and he had he unfortunate task of telling me that she ‘did herself in’ last night.
“What?”
“She killed herself last night?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry o be the one to tell you.”
“How?”
“She shot herself.”
“What?”
“She got everything in order yesterday, put all of the paperwork, will…everything in order, put her cats in the carrier, drove to a cemetary that was build on the land her grandfather owned (where she grew up), shot the cats, and then shot herself twice in the chest.”
“Oh my god.”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Something in my mind cracked. It’s still cracked.
BJ was one of my best friends. I loved her. When I was down and out, she helped me like her long lost granddaughter. We looked after each other. She drove me crazy and was stubborn and annoying, but I wouldn’t have had in any other way.
The fact that she felt so distraught that she had to end it all, it kills me.
What was she distraught about? Money. She lost everything in the Nigerian scam and instead of coming to us, she ended it. She even sent an email to those crooks telling them that by the time they read her email, she would be dead. She was about $200,000 in debt.
The fact that she shot the cats is even more disturbing, as she didn’t have children and they were her babies. She would beat your ass is you looked at them wrong. I can’t imagine how broken she must have been to take a gun and shoot her babies, and then after that shoot herself. Maybe she was afraid that nobody would have taken care of them. I don’t know. I just keep thinking about her doing that. It’s so upsetting.
But, she ended it on her own terms and she took her babies with her.
She left two notes for Mark. She left the underpants (which from the look of them were given to me because she didn’t want people going through them) and jewelry for me.
That’s all that we know of.
She was 78 years old and it breaks my heart that she let money destroy her. Money is just money. It doesn’t really mean anything. In the big picture, it doesn’t mean anything.
And yet, it destroyed one of the strongest people I know.
I am so heart broken and sad. I wish I was magic. I wish I controlled time. I wish I could go and heal her.
I’m so sick of death.
Somebody come and hold me.
*holds you tight*
I’m sorry, Debbie.
OMG! How awful.
I’m so sorry to hear of this .. that poor lady .. and those fkn bastards in Nigeria!
It is so very sad that she couldn’t come to you to talk .. *hugz from Oz*
Oh NO!! I’m so sorry DEB!!! thats very sad!! sending you huge hugz!!!
**Hugs**
Debbie, I know I haven’t commented in forever but I want you to know that I am truly sorry that this has happened. My heart aches for you. I truly am so sorry.
V
Suicide is the dumbest possible way of getting revenge. Why is that? Because the people you want to strike back at are the very same folks who won’t even remember you a week after you’re gone, while the people you want to spare most — the people who love you — are the ones who will have to live with the pain of your suicide for the rest of their lives. DAVID J. LIEBERMAN
*Hugs* This will be a hard time for you…
Oh Deb, that is terrible! I am so sorry, I wish that I could give you the hug that you need.
Let me know if there is ANYTHING that I can do.
I suspect there was more at play here than money, though that is in no way letting the scumbag scamartists off the hook. 78 is getting up there and who knows what medical issues she had, that perhaps even affected her judgement more than mere depression.
Also, maybe you can console yourself with the fact that she had a long life. Knowing how big your heart is, I doubt that is much consolation, but it’s something.
Thoughts and prayers, Debbie.
I just want to add my sincere condolences.
I wish I knew what to say, but know that I am thinking of you.
Much love
And I have no words.
You have a big hug from me.
xo
Oh hon, that’s beyond terrible, and I’m so sorry.
You have my prayers.
I am so sorry, Debbie. I know how much she meant to you.
It is so hard for me lately to hear stories of older people worrying so much about money. They have lived productive lives and shouldn’t have to want for a single thing. This is utterly heartbreaking.
Sending abundant hugs.
Whoa! My heart was beating extremely fast while reading that post. How awful. You’re strong, and you will get through this, too. I really don’t know what else to say…
*hugs v tightly*
you made her world a better place. know that.
Oh, that is so sad. I’m very sorry for the loss of your good friend.
I’m so sorry.
Sorry.
I’m really sorry to hear this. We can never really understand what drives somebody to take their own life. Having lost one of my closest friends to suicide I deeply sympathise. You must do all you can to look after yourself.
Oh Debbie, my god, Debbie. That’s just awful on all levels. I’m so sorry. What a horrible shock. My heart goes out to you. Damn.
😦 I’m sorry, sweetie.
I am so sorry. *hugs and kisses*
I hate to think that the scams were the sole cause of this. I can’t help but feel that her story needs to be told to everyone, so that something can be done about those evil, evil bastards.
Oh honey….I am so sorry. Love to you.
holy cow.
i hope she is at peace and you can find some comfort.
Sincerest condolences. I hope you know that you can always call me if you ever need to talk. I know that losing a friend like that can take a toll on a person, even a strong one like you!
My thoughts are with you.
Debbie:
I’m very sorry for your loss.
I’m at a loss for what else to say.
*hugs*
I am so sorry to hear of this. My thoughts and prayers are with you, her and her family.
My great Aunt shot herself but before she did herself in she shot her dog, too. We couldn’t understand why, just assumed that maybe she didn’t want to burden anyone else with the responsibility of taking care of him.
Anyway, how awful.
I’m so sorry to hear all this, Debbie. I haven’t visited here lately in part because I’ve had such a shitty year myself. And, yes, I’ve been meaning to write my own post about “enough death already.”
It started New Year’s Eve, when I was walking home just after the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Day. The church bells were ringing loundly but were just about drowned out by the cawing of swarms of black birds winging overhead. Knowing that certain black birds are considered omens of death, I got chills and a bad, bad feeling about the coming year. It was a portent.
Four days later, I lost my job in a corporate downsizing (no fault of my own). On June 3, my father died — nine years to the day after my mother’s death. Two days after his funeral, I had to put my beloved dog Mongo, a Sheperd-Husky mix, to sleep. He’d had a cancerous tumor removed about a year before and had seemed to recover okay. But he’d also begun showing signs of anxiety (and lumps) right at the beginning of the year, although he seemed generally healthy and in good spirits. He seemed fine when I had to put him in the hands of caretakers to care for my father’s funeral arrangements. The day after the funeral, when I went to pick him up, he was seriously ill. The next day, I made the decision to spare him additional suffering and put him to sleep. The vet said it was “the kindest, most compassionate thing I could’ve done.” Yet I was crushed, absolutely consumed with grief. I’d taken him in as a stray eight years before, and he was my best friend and constant shadow. When the vet’s assistant asked about burial or cremation, I said cremation because I thought I might scatter his ashes over the hillside where he used to love to run. Then, when I got into the car to go home, and turned on the radio, guess which song came on? “Dust in the Wind.”
That week, Chubby Chekker died, and Tim Russert. Others, too. More recently, Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes.
Yeah, I’m sick of death, too. No more, please. Not this year.