My Sister's Last Words

These are the last written words by my dear (and much missed) sister, Mary. Shortly after she passed, I found her writing on her computer. It took a few hours to comprehend the gift I had discovered.

It’s Not Fair!

By my sister,

Mary Beth Maurer

I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve said that. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m grateful because I’m not using heroin. Every day I go over the pluses that come with being clean. Even with all that I can now do because I’m clean, I still find myself thinking and much too often, “This isn’t fair!”

Stopping the heroin use is just one of the many things I had to do in order to start having a decent life. When I first entered this program I thought, “If I can just stop using, everything will be ok. My life will fall back into place and all my problems will be solved”. Of course stopping the drug use had to be the first thing on the agenda or nothing else could happen, but I was not prepared for what happened after that. Not only did my problems not just go away, but also, most of the people in my life didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t using! I wasn’t expecting a parade down Main Street, but I certainly thought I would be congratulated for all my hard work and welcomed back into the fold. I pictured my reentry akin to the prodigal son. Instead it was met with down cast eyes filled with mistrust and yes, even pity. I wanted to scream at them, shake them, and take an ad out in the paper so everyone would know that this time I was going to stay clean. Then I heard those two words very clearly echoing in my brain. “This Time” How often did my family and friends here those words? How often did I mean them when I said them? How often did they stay true? The sad truth was I didn’t stay true to those words. That’s when I knew that I was going to have to do this for me and no one in my little circle had to believe me. I had to shut my eyes to the looks and even the words. When I went to the store for groceries and the line was long so it took my longer to get home, I had to ignore the “knowing looks” that were thrown my way. Those were the looks that said, “Yeah, sure you were shopping” Even though I had groceries with me, that still wasn’t enough. I knew they believed I either didn’t get everything I was supposed to, OR, I found another way to pay for the drugs. What made matters worse was if I tried to explain why I was late, people really thought I was lying. Even to my own ears, the truth sounded fake. I was just trying to hard.

It took quite some time but I did get through all of that. You may wonder what I did to have everyone believe me. I did nothing except normal day-to-day things. When I stopped trying to explain why I was late or why something cost more then I had thought, people stopped looking at me as if I did something wrong. As long as I continued to act in the same manner as when I was using, I was looked at in that light. I always had a reason for everything. Finally, I realized I don’t have to give a reason. Sometimes things just happen. Most people do not have to explain to their family why they only had 2.00 change instead of 5.00 or why they were 15 minutes late after being at the grocery store. People just knew that this happens. Trying to explain the obvious only made me look guiltier.

Ok, so now I’m clean. My family doesn’t lock away their good silver or hide their wallets and purses when I visit. I was surprised to see some of the things my sister had. I never saw them before because she was afraid I would steal it. Now things will finally go ok for me. Thank Goodness. I had enough of the distrust and dirty looks. Now I could reap some of the rewards for staying clean and sober. NOT TRUE. As I said in the very beginning of this, I found life just wasn’t fair.

After many years of substance abuse, I am clean and sober. Then I notice my legs are turning colors. Initially it had the look of someone with dirty feet salted with clean spots. Nothing would clean the area and it was spreading. A trip to the doctor revealed I had Hepatitis C. When I was 19, I had contracted hepatitis B. Now, hepatitis C. reared its ugly head and destroyed my liver. I had no symptoms, no pain, nothing. I was free of the terrible monkey of heroin only to find that I could still die from the drug. One doctor told me that I was going to die from liver cancer. Those words rattled around my brain for the umpteenth time… It’s not fair! So, now I sit and wait to get sicker so I can get a new liver. Even if I do get this liver, there’s still a big chance I may not make it. I have a 30% chance of dying on the table and a 60% chance of dying after the first year. These are not good odds. So, this is why I find myself yelling LIFE ISN’T FAIR.

As if all of that junk weren’t enough, it seems every time I try to do something, it doesn’t work out. I feel as though the entire world is against me. The physical pain becomes so horrendous I tell myself that I’m going to use dope just to get rid of the pain. Since the doctors won’t give me anything, they have given me no choice. There have been times I’ve come very close to picking up again. Then something happens. I look around at what I have because I’m not using. My son, my most precious son is mine again. No words exist to explain that feeling. I have self-respect. One of my big fears was after I died I would be known as that drug addict who lived in the corner house. I don’t want to leave that legacy to my children. I’m more than a drug addict. I also find myself talking to my counselor about this. I’m actually using the program the way I’m supposed to. Sometimes I get on the Internet and talk with another addict. Sometimes I call the NA help line. Sometimes I just pray. (Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it) Then there’s one more thing I hadn’t counted on. The same thing that is keeping me from going through withdrawal, methadone, is also keeping me from using. You see in order for this program to work, a person has to be on a dose that fills up their opiate receptors. This is what keeps you from wanting to use. (At least physically.) Well, that same thing will keep me from feeling the dope.

No one told me getting clean would be easy. No one told me staying clean would require so much work. (Personally, I’d like to take the guy named NO ONE and punch him in the gut.) I’m not going to tell anyone that this is peaches and cream and bubble gum. Well, unless the peaches are a little too soft, the cream has curdled and the bubble gum just exploded all over my hair. However, I did find that something pretty terrific is going on. I don’t feel like a useless piece of flesh. I use to believe that I wasn’t worth the space I took up. I don’t believe that today. I have hope for a better life for my son. He now has a chance at happiness. I don’t have to leave a legacy of being the drug addict on the corner. Most of all, I proved to myself that I could do it. I overcame all the crap that was sent my way be it real or imagined and I stopped using drugs! When I wake up, I thank my higher power for keeping me clean the day before and I ask for help on this new day. I consider it a small miracle that I’m not dead and that I don’t have to rush out and pick up so I don’t get sick. I can actually go places like the park, the movies, and have fun. My mind isn’t constantly wrapped up in finding my next hit.

I came into this program hoping I would stop using drugs. What I found was a lot more then just that. The Nurses showed me friendship and real concern for my welfare. My counselors actually cared about me. I had always thought they were just looking at this as doing their job and that’s all. I was able to trust them and open up and by doing that, I was able to stay clean. I found so much more then my initial goal. It took using everything the program offered in order to do this. It also takes believing in me to continue this journey.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or next week. I only work on staying clean one day at a time. However today I can make plans for next week or next month. In the past, I couldn’t do that. How could I plan on being somewhere when I didn’t know if I would have my fix? You may wonder when you can really tell that you are making it. For me it was when my boyfriend gave me some jewelry for my birthday. He hadn’t done that in a long time because I would always sell it. Truthfully, though, that was when I knew he trusted me. I knew that I was getting better when I realized that I no longer cared about the results of urine tests and what anyone thought of me. I knew in my heart what I had done or had NOT done and that was the only important thing.
Ok, so sometimes I still feel as if life is unfair. The difference today is I feel life is unfair, but it’s unfair to everyone. I’m not being singled out. This is just the way life is. I can either accept it or not. If I don’t accept it, I’ll use again. If I can accept it, then I’ll stay clean.

The end of all this is today I wake up, look in the mirror and hey, what’s that?? Well looky here, there’s a smile on that person’s face. Now how about that? Who would have thunked it? (big grin)

Mary Beth Maurer
April 5, 1955 ~ Sept. 29, 2001

A Bear’s Story

 Bear’s Story
(Fran’s Story, Too)
By: Fran

When I was 11, I received a teddy bear as a gift. Inside the brown bear was a music box that played a sweet lullaby. Mary and I shared the same bedroom; our beds were not too far apart. There were plenty of nights when we couldn't fall asleep.

I enjoyed hearing the sounds of music coming from this bear so much so, that I would make that little bear play and play until off to sleep I went. All the while, I would cuddle the soft creature in my arms. Of course, Mary being one year older took every opportunity to let me know how childish this was of me; but nothing would stop me from playing that soothing music. Every night, night after night, I would make that little bear sing to me... and every night, poor Mary would complain. One night, I pretended to be asleep. When that brown bear ran out of music, who do you think came over to my bed to make the bear play his music? Yep, my dear sister, Mary, that's who. I sprang up in bed and said, "Got Ya!" She confessed that every night when I fell asleep first, she would come over and make my bear play the calming music for her.

Growing Up

I grew up, of course, and somehow that little brown bear was the only possession from my past that I managed to hold on to throughout the years. I didn’t plan it that way; it was just one of those things.

A few years ago, Mary was visiting with me when she shared that her day was not going well. (My dear sister had many days that did not go well.) She explained how she didn’t have any good memories from her childhood. My thoughts immediately went to “our” little brown bear. Just as fast as my feet could carry me, I ran up the stairs and into the bedroom I dashed. I swear that bear was smiling at me as if he knew my plans. I put him behind my back, and down the stairs I flew. Mary was still in shock. (She hadn’t seen me move that fast in years!) My smile went from ear to ear, but I could feel my eyes swell with tears as I put the little guy in her arms. She took one look at him and in an instant; I saw a sweet recognition of happiness I hadn’t seen in years. Immediately, Mary collapsed into my waiting arms, in tears. Giving her my bear graced her with a happy memory. Recalling it now, brings me peace of mind and a great sense of comfort. Being able to share it today is a kin to closure.

The little brown bear went home to live with Mary that day. I didn’t know then that he would come back to me again so soon. Although he lived with Mary for short three years, he served a greater purpose. Now, I treasure him even more.

Too Much Too Fast

And now, it’s I who needs to call to mind a happy memory as I try to cope.

Although my life was never really in my control, that fact was forcefully awakened in me. You see, my mother died in August of 2001. Then, 22 days later, the brutal images and nightmarish horrors of 9/11 were realized. Then for me, the ultimate wake-up call came a short eighteen days later when my sweet Mary died. So much death and sadness in too short a period of time; I didn’t think that I would survive with my “self” intact. Naturally, my thoughts couldn’t help but turn to my dear brother, Joe, whose sweet goodnight was five years earlier, at the tender age of 46. With the exception of Joe, I didn’t have time to recover from one dreadful event before the other, unmercifully unfolded.

For the longest time, I couldn’t regain my sense of security. I felt, “off center”. When the phone would ring, I jumped. When it rang in the dead of night, I swear I stopped breathing. All of this was exasperated by feeling that I had no one with whom to share my darkest thoughts. After all, who would want to talk about death and dying?

However, now, my perspective has changed and I pray it will continue to transform as I go on with my healing journey. (It’s just that some moments in time, those caught between breaths of air, are a little harder than others.) I guess life wasn’t meant for the weak of heart or the faint in spirit but, I guess that’s why God made angels, put them here on earth, and cleverly disguised them as friends.

Finding Ways

We all have to find a way to heal from pain. Whether that pain is from a physical source or the loss of a loved one; healing is essential to our continued growth. When we suffer we stop developing spiritually, physically, emotionally - in every aspect of our lives. The people around us suffer as well. I grieve for my lost sister every day. I still sometimes feel as if I am yelling into a crowded room, yet no one hears me. When someone we love passes away, how much of ourselves goes with him or her and how much should we allow to be taken away?

The Journey Back

I believe that, more often then not, we hold the tools within to start the journey back to a more meaningful and fulfilling life. Yes, even a life without loved ones. But first we must feel and then we must express our pain. Although I’m still struggling with loss, I’m using every ounce of fight inside me to hold on, and now, I smile more than I cry. We must try to remember to keep our loved ones close to us, our hearts pure, love with all we have, and never allow a precious moment to go unnoticed. It is in that spirit that I share my thoughts with you. It’s my hope that deep down most of us know what helps us during our greatest times of need. For those of you who don’t and for those can’t reach inside of yourself, I offer you my continued hope for a better tomorrow.


I never want your spirits to feel the ache of tears shed from yesterday’s winds, today’s stillness, or tomorrow’s haunts. I only want you to know the joy of a loved one’s touch, the warmth of a hug, or the sweet surrender of a tender kiss. When your day ends with the perfect sunset resting on a moonlit glow, I wish the stars to sing for you a melody of peace and harmony. When all is nigh, and rest has come, may your dreams be fulfilled, including your childhood wishes.

Healing

My bear’s old story was about two little sisters trying to find stillness so they could fall asleep. Today’s message involves the healing of memories, finding a deeper love, and letting go of pain.

A sister’s love is forever, but a little brown teddy bear will always be here waiting for his music box to be played once more.

I have moved from the nightmare of Mary’s loss into a different reality that I am comfortable calling "a new me." And our bear has a place of honor next to my computer, so he visits with me daily. Glancing at him, I am reminded of Mary's sweet smile along with her contagious laugh. I will always miss Mary, but rest assured, she will be, for forever and a day, my sister.

In Loving Memory of My Beloved Sister, Mary Maurer
April 5, 1954 - September 29, 2001

Saying Goodbye

My Dearest Sister,

Although you are gone from my reach and I am no longer able to touch your sweetness, your warm and loving face; mercifully, I can still picture your beauty in my mind. Nothing can ever remove the memories of my courageous, sensitive, and most precious sister.

Mary Beth Maurer
4/5/1954 ~ 9/29/2001

Oh how I loved you, Mary. When we were little, growing up as we did, all we really had was each other. I never thanked you for taking my punishment after I melted the hairbrush by sticking it up in the shade of the table lamp, creating a mess for mom. Before the belt came my way, you yelled out that you put it there. How just like you dear sister, to take my punishment. I wonder how many more thrashing you took upon yourself. My fear is that you died never knowing how much you were loved. I tired so hard to share my heart with you. In every letter written, every message sent, and every phone call, I said, "I love you." If only you could have felt my love, maybe then you could have given permission to love yourself. You have always been and always shall be my protector. I just wish I could have protected you.

I miss you, Mary. Most of all, I miss your contagious laughter. I could pick out your unique giggles as soon as I entered a room. You were always the first one to get the joke and you wouldn't stop laughing until everyone was laughing with you. Your sense of humor was as unique as it was unchallenged. You were funny at times, without intention, but you would be the first to laugh at yourself. You taught me to see the humor in my shortcomings. I miss your beautiful singing voice, sweet Mary. I remember when you tired so patiently to teach me to sing. Oh, you poor thing! You had the patience of a saint. You never winced or criticized my attempts. (Although, I did notice you sang a little louder when my harmony part came up.) Unfailingly, you never made me feel inferior. When you became so very ill, I was in denial. I am sorry for not being as supportive as I should have been. I just didn't think I would lose you. I thought we would have more time to say all that needed to be said. I didn't realize our time would be cut so mercilessly short. I am sorry Mary. I am sorry for not saying what I should have said sooner. So, I will say it now.

Mary, I loved you with every part of my being. You ARE my sister. You remain my sister even through death. Throughout your struggles in life, I have always been there. Maybe I didn't understand as much as you would have liked but my love didn't need to understand. It only needed you. That's all I ever needed Mary - just you. It has been my honor to call you sister. Not a day goes by without you on my mind and in my heart. I have been blessed to have you in my life, even if only for a blink of an eye.

From my heart---to yours, in God's arms,
Your little sister,
Fran