April 23, 2008
Personal blogging
I don't know why she called herself Big B. She was always small, petite and thin. She had a thousand watt smile and was friendly to everyone. She was the only one who referred to our waitress, the one who served us breakfast every single morning before high school, by name. She had no pretenses. I loved that about her.
I knew she had problems. I made her come to my office in 2000 so I could look at her and see if she was telling the truth about being off drugs. Despite the fact that we had hardly spoken in the six years since we graduated high school, she came. We sat in a conference room at the top of the Chrysler Building. She swore she was clean. I looked for the signs, the glassy eyes and the marks on the arm. She didn't have them. I believed her. I think that was a good time for her.
I'd hear from time to time that she was back on. She found me on MySpace a few months ago and we spoke. She said she was doing well. An apartment, a man and a job. Things were going ok. She was done with the shit.
It was on MySpace that I found out she died when her friends changed her page to a memorial page. People die, I know that. And those who dabble in the hard drugs die faster than the rest of us. But I can't stop thinking about this girl, so young, dying alone, and no one could help or save her. The guy in the picture with her is dead too. I remember how hard she took it when he passed. I thought that would definitely scare her straight.
I'm going to remember the girl who would sing "Champion Lover" at breakfast while we discussed if we should cut Troychansky's math class. The one who was hyper, laughed a lot, was honest and never cared what anyone thought of her. I'm going to remember her on the 64th floor of the Chrysler Building, laughing at me for worrying about her, looking out at the city and marveling at its magic.
Rest in peace, Berta Kuperblum.
Posted by Karol at April 23, 2008 10:22 AM | TrackBackTechnorati Tags: Personal+Blogging
I'm so sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Lisa at April 23, 2008 11:46 AMRequiem aeternam...
I'm truly sorry to hear of your loss, and saddened to see someone cut down by addiction.
Prayers going up....
Posted by: Fallen Sparrow at April 23, 2008 12:31 PMWell spoken, K. B was awesome in her way. Crazy bird. Always made me smile. I think the last time I saw her, I bit her in a club. Don't ask. And, don't ask where.
I am glad to have known her for what was maybe 17 years. Much love, B.
Posted by: Ren at April 23, 2008 03:29 PMWas that Anthony?
Posted by: Not Dawn Summers at April 23, 2008 05:36 PMmy myspace page is so boring...I want you to add the gangsta cartoon to my memorial page.
Posted by: Not Dawn Summers at April 23, 2008 05:40 PMThat's too bad, Karol. Why is it the sucky people last forever, and the ones we like burn out like that?
Posted by: Eric at April 23, 2008 06:01 PMHow odd. I had a friend in college who passed away my senior year who loved Shabba (though she also loved Snow-groan). I said a decade of a rosary for your Berta, my Jennifer and all those affected by their losses.
Posted by: Von Bek at April 23, 2008 07:31 PMKarol. I am Bertas cousin. I am grief stricken by her death to the point where it feels like nothing will help it get better. But your words did. Thank you for remembering and sharing. Nonna
Posted by: cousin nonna at April 23, 2008 09:32 PMKarol,
Thanks so much for the lovely sentiments. Your account of Berta was just spot on and put a big smile on my face. I remember her always pouring a mess of ketchup on her eggs at the diner each morning and getting up to go to the front of the diner whenever she needed something -like a napkin or more coffee - when the waitress was busy. I loved her ballsiness, and equally, her sincerity. She was authentic. I can hear her great laugh in my ear right now.
On a professional note, I've worked with many patients with addictions over the years, but never knew who they were as people, only as "patients." I'd never known anyone, so personally, who had struggled with this wretched illness, or who had died as a result. Berta's loss, though truly senseless, made me appreciate, much more, the humanity in diseases of addiction, and more deeply appreciate that anyone and everyone is vulnerable to it. There is no "type" when it comes to this problem.
Though I know this is easier said than done, if nothing else, I hope that for those in the memorial chapel who came to pay their respects, and who share Berta's struggles with addiction, they do not wait for a "wake up call" - because this was it, and I know there have been others like this in our Russian community in the recent past.
Addiction never fixes anything - it is a way of coping, of medicating, what is so unbearable on the inside - and always, ultimately, fails. What hurts inside always reaches the surface during (relative) moments of sobriety, and is quickly squashed with the next "hit." This is why the cycle of addiction develops, but breaking the cycle and making the decision and commitment to working on one's problems, for the long haul, without substances, is possible. It does not have to be a life sentence. The hardest part is just getting started. Just my thoughts.
Rest in peace, Berta.
Karol,
I know what you are going through as I am feeling the same way. Growing up with Berta I can say her energy and smile touched many people. She will never be forgotten and I know she is now in a better place.
