Smoke and Mirrors

Her name was Ruth Seguin. I remember her name because we worked at a fabric store together and her name reminded me of sequined fabric. She had a cheerful glittering persona with a rougher side, just like the fabric. I was a young girl of eighteen or nineteen. Naive? You bet.

Ruth was about twice my age. She had lived a hard life. Her parents definitely didn't treat her well. She started smoking at age fourteen, probably drinking too. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, she postponed her smoking to complete chemo, then started up again. When she was diagnosed within the same year with irreversible bone cancer, she quit the cancer sticks, but kept drinking her beer. The high calorie content helped her keep her weight up. At least that was her reasoning. Her husband left her after twenty plus years. She was too depressing for him, but the new girlfriend wasn't. In sickness and in health must have been a one-sided agreement for him. I don't remember his name, which says a lot.

After her first brush with cancer and a mastectomy, Ruth had shown me the little tattoo dots on her rib cage that let the radiologist know where to aim. She said she had always wanted a tattoo, but was never brave enough on her own. Be careful what you wish for.

Ruth grew weaker and eventually couldn't work. She grew bloated looking from the chemo and eventually died. I would imagine that death was a blessing compared to life with a painful terminal illness. We gathered in her garage with her family, friends and neighbors. Two other "material girls", as we called ourselves, and I came to the memorial. Whoever it was that spoke about Ruth with a beer in his hand said wonderful things about our co-worker. Then he set his drink down on a workbench and perched his cigarette on top of it for a moment of silence. As I reflected on Ruth and my memories of her and the period of life that we had shared, I couldn't tear my eyes off the beer and swirling cigarette smoke. I had been taught my whole life not to smoke or drink but until that moment I had never fully understood the impact that such habit can have on everyone within breathing distance. My friend had killed herself. What started as an escape at age 14 had caused her to destroy her own body through years of self-inflicted poison.

What a lasting statement that made to me to keep my body clean. Her eulogy caused me to look at myself in the mirror and promise to never have smoke obscure the image staring back.