Saturday, June 11, 2016

Bonnie Anne Rapkin


Eyes for Your Heart
I first noticed Bonnie at the Thursday Meditation Meeting held at the Saint Mary’s Retreat House next to the Mission.
She sat near the entrance to the room on the armchair where her feet dangled like a child's several inches from the rug, it hadn’t occurred to me that she was kind of short.
What attracted me to her was a mystifying… ever so slight quirky smile that had a mischievous nuance forewarning me that I best be on my toes if I wanted to get to know her better.

Several months went by while I admired her from afar… well, a few feet from where I usually sat.
I saw a few of her assemblages at the annual Buddha Abides art show and I liked her sense of humor and jewelers eye in her pieces. Most others in those shows displayed work that was reverent and serious but Bonnie’s had a wry quality that was respectful but down to earth.

At that time, I volunteered at Central Office. I’d been sober about 8 or 9 years. Tim W. was the manager then and what I liked about volunteering there with Tim was that it was quiet time for me. We spoke shortly, getting to know each other, and in those days, Central Office was a serene place in which an alcoholic could come in a chat without it being too public. On one particular occasion Bonnie came in to get a card or something. Tim planted the seed after she left saying, George, Bonnie never comes in here.”
“Really? What are you saying, Tim?”
“I’m just saying she never comes to Central Office, that’s all.”

One of my fellow dispatchers at Yellow Cab, Robin W., had been a friend of Bonnie’s too. They had been pals in Casa Serena. I told her I was interested in Bonnie. Robin paid no attention to my probe and it really got under my skin when she hooked up Bonnie on a date with one of our drivers. He was a nice, normal, and stable, guy but I could tell he wasn’t a good match for Bonnie. One has to appreciate Bonnie's non-linear ways. This part of her can’t be explained… you have to see her art work to catch that or hear one of the wildly revealing open-ended honesty of hers shares in AA. I just knew I would never be bored in a million years if I could just get close to her.

It wasn’t until I got a motorcycle that she began warming up to me. Fellas, there’s nothing like a motorcycle as an aphrodisiac for a woman like Bonnie.
She began asking me to come over to her pace to replace light-bulbs. She was too short to do it on her two-step ladder. Those damned thing burned out on a regular basis. After performing my manly duties her body language said, okay, thanks but see ya. I’d kind of insisted on a hug and she obliged with one of those pat-pat hugs.

Okay, nothing was happening there. This went on for a year.

Finally, one March Sunday, after the service at the Vedanta Temple, our friend Judy J. asked, “Are you and Bonnie an Item?”
“No, I’d like that but she doesn’t give me much feedback. Besides, I’m concerned, she seems to have a lot of health problems and I’m not sure if I want to get involved.”

I had to work that night so, after the Vedanta I went home to be. I was dozing off when I got the call… Bonnie was crying. She’d been told she couldn’t be admitted to 5 East without a Dr.’s okay. Could I please come and get her.

Now, I’m no knight in shining armor… at least not for anyone else. Without thinking about it at all, I was there in a few minutes at the ER. We got to her house… I tucked her in I asked her to tell me where all her drugs were and dumped all the Soma in the toilet. She asked me not to leave… I stayed.

March 18th 2007 was the beginning of an unbelievable and never boring relationship. The bond was so strong that nothing could break it.

I wouldn’t be telling this story if I didn’t feel honored to tell it. For all the lonely hearts in the rooms of AA I can say that at 9 years of sobriety I had resigned at the age of 60 to the idea that I would be alone the rest of my life and that any chance for meaningful love had passed me by. It took 9 years of preparation to be able to love. The remarkable thing was that Bonnie reciprocated and doubled down on it. No matter what we went through it was easy for me because we cared deeply for the best to come for us both. And my feeling now is that I have experienced a love I would not have believed existed except for that "Ever After" BS from fairy tales. I now know that I am one of the few happy ones that can say I found love that was "Ever After" and I need no more proof of it.

Besides, Bonnie sometimes wore a Ramones T-shirt and she loved the Blues and Reggae. My feeling has always been that any woman that could love the Blues, Reggae, and the Ramones was okay with me even though I could never get her into Country it was okay… three out of four was pretty good. I didn’t want a Stepford wife that likes EVERYTHING I do.

Bonnie loved Northern Idaho and my family at Priest Lake in spite of the pain she suffered to get there via the long road trip with me. They loved her too. She fit right in and was so comfortable there. I rarely saw her that happy anywhere else.

I might add that, though Bonnie was loved by so many, she suffered from depression. Depression is a cruel disease that tricks the mind into thinking we are all alone. This happens no matter how thoroughly one works the steps, gathers a gaggle of sponsees, or becomes a paradigm of service to others. Drinking and drugs aren’t the solution and the program of recovery in AA doesn’t claim to be the cure for everything. We yield all we can to the Heart of Compassion no matter whether we call it God or a Higher Power. It is compassion that saves us all and compassion sometimes says, get professional help. Bonnie did that but still felt isolated and fought the disease with her whole heart and soul.

 Her heart was so big that it just gave out. So, Sweet Bonnie, our friends are here to bid you farewell and to express our shared gratitude for the love you gave us all.

Namaste.


Tuesday, June 7, 2016

My Bonnie

The Last Time I saw Bonnie
I stay with Bonnie on Tuesday nights. There was nothing unusual about that night… that’s why it’s hard to remember. It would’ve been our Tuesday meditation meeting… Yes… we went to that and had a nice… very nice talk…Then it was TV… & dinner…& bed.

The last time I saw her… 
The morning routine when I stay at her place, I get up about six & go home. I get up at six... at my desk by seven & work ‘til noon. Mornings… that’s when I write… brain shuts down after the noon hour and I do something else.

We try to arrange ourselves around those hours. She likes to sleep-in till about ten so I never call her before noon. But Wednesday would be different. She had some appointments on Thursday morning and would most certainly be at my place Wednesday night. That was the plan.
Before I leave I always give her a peck on the cheek and tell her, “I love you.”
“Can’t you stay with me a little longer today.”
“Sorry, hon. I’ve gotta proofing to do.” I pecked her on the cheek again, “I love you but I’ve got to get this done.”
“Okay, love you too.”

One AA meeting at the Alano Club that she liked is the Wednesday one where chips and cakes are given  for anniversaries. Though she didn’t like big meetings, it is an upbeat meeting that she sometimes enjoyed. It's normal for her to be at my house on Wednesday nights and I cook.

She called beforehand, “I’m not feeling well… like I have a flu or cold. I have to stay home tonight.”

I’ve been with her nine years and, in that time, we’ve been at Cottage Hospital so many times for one thing or another but never has she ever had a cold or a flu, “What’s wrong hon?”
“I’m just feeling weak and can’t handle the meeting today. George, I’m supposed to meet with Vicki and I have that appointment at nine with Radiation and that one at ten. Can you call them and cancel for me?” and she gave me the numbers and was confused about them. Turned out that a couple of the numbers were wrong

None of this was unusual for her to make a call somewhat like this one when she just wanted some time to herself. We understood each other and didn’t take offense. That’s one reason our relationship was so strong over the years. We trusted our love for each other. Though we wished to live together wherever we lived would have to have room for each of us to have our space… space to retreat to. So, we kept our separate apartments across town from each other a couple miles.

She called me later that evening… around nine. “I need to get some rest… okay?”
“Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I love you. Take care of yourself, okay.”
“I love you too.”

There it was, our last conversation. I talked with Vicki… wrong number for the therapist and couldn’t find her in the old school phone directory. Radiation was closed so I had to call in the morning. I didn’t tell Bonnie… I just forgot to.
The next morning, I called Radiation as soon as they opened. The woman was a bit cross, “She’s done this before. The next time she comes tell her to bring her credit card. We have to charge her two hundred and twenty dollars this time and insurance won’t cover it….”
“I’m sorry, but she’s not able to make it.”
“Well, she has to bring her card…” and on and on.

I waited ‘til noon to call her. She didn’t answer but I wasn’t overly concerned. Bonnie suffers from depression and I always let her ride it out when she wants to be alone. We have that agreement. When she doesn’t answer the phone it is because she has it under her pillow but always calls back after she hears her messages. It might be that night or it might be the next day. Again, I wasn’t concerned and left a message telling her about the charge on the appointment thinking she would call back sooner because of that news.

Before going to bed Thursday night a tried one more time and told her I check with her if she didn’t call me before noon. It was just to see if there was anything she needed but I was getting a little worried. Vicki called after that and I told her about my message. She said she tried too and was very worried. I tried to reassure her that it’s okay. Bonnie is probably just isolating a bit. Vicki said she’s check on her in the morning and we left it at that.

It was about eight-thirty when I got the call.
Weeping, crying, “George…. She’s gone…”
I knew but I was pulling straws… “What… to Cottage?”
“She’s gone, George… I found her on the floor…”
“Are the paramedics there?”
“The police… too… I don’t know… a bunch of people.”
”Oh no!... don’t let them take her away before I get there.”
“The coroner has to come… please hurry, George.”

I was in my sweats the same as any other day at my desk. I rushed out the door and got halfway to the car before I realized I didn’t have my keys… I was locked out… take my bike… it’s up there too… tried to open a window. So many times I’d gotten through it but I had it secured good. The air conditioner window… maybe I could take it off from there… It wouldn’t budge… impossible to do the credit card trick…
 I picked up a two-foot-long 1 ½ by 1 ½ stick and pried the handle off but I needed something to stick in there to turn the latch… a screwdriver. I saw my neighbor that’s always working on things…
“Do you have a screwdriver?”
“Sure, I have to find it though….”
He had tool boxes with every tool imaginable but nothing like a screw driver. He finally found one and I got the door open.

I drove like mad to get to my Bonnie…. Bonnie… damn it…. No… No… Bonnie… NO!
Several police and emergency people were standing-by… Vicki rushed to me…
“Have they taken her yet?”
“No.”
“Can I see her.”
“They won’t let us…”
An officer approached us… another was a service chaplain or something. They asked me cop type questions that all were around the notion of whether or not she OD’d. I told them about her heart.
“Let me see her… please… one last time.”
Service Chaplain was trying to do his job, “You don’t want to see her this way. You'll be able to see her later…when they have her for viewing.”
“What do you fuckin mean. Don’t try to protect me… man, I’ve seen ten times worse than anything you can imagine! I'm a fuckin' Vet.” 
My pleas didn’t work.
I want to see her now, while she’s still there!”
I started to go for her stairs. A cop stood in the way, “Not while the investigation is going on. Sorry.”
“Why, I’ll stand back… I just want to see my Bonnie!”
The chaplain came to me and said, “It’s the law.”
Man, that’s the wrong thing to say… “The law? The law has never fuckin’ help me. Fuck the law!” I said to the cop… “The laws are made for Judges, lawyers, and cops… they aren’t made for people!”
I had to drive back and get my phone… I left my phone at home… it had all my numbers in it… people I needed to call. By the time I got back thy had taken her away…

I insisted on an open coffin so that I could see her one last time. Her father, Bernie, would come in the room while the lid was open. When I finally saw what was left of Bonnie, it was terrible. They had her laid out all made up pasty and perfectly with her favorite lipstick but no resemblance of life at all in her. Her face looked fuckin’ stern like churchy prigs do in 19th century sepia prints. I wish they could have at least given her back her sly imp smirk… an upturned cheek… like it’s all a trick but no… her body was cold… she was gone… the cops would have spared me of this sight.
Last night I didn’t sleep at all. I wasn’t thinking of her all night but whenever I began to drift off a line from the song, You’re learning the Blues… Armstrong and Ella…, came to me… or a conversation… a laugh... the last time we walked on the beach… why do I cherish these things thinking I’m glad we got to do this or that before… or she didn’t get to do this or that… the trips we didn’t take… a selfish moment when I rushed home and didn’t hold her a little longer… it’s all so sad and useless. Why would I think it matters now?

But the truth is somewhere else. I should know it’s impossible to love perfectly… a sudden departure does that. I know there’s some of it that goes on when it’s a long lingering ordeal… but nothing like the intensity of her being in my arms one day and gone… cold body left but she’s gone to the ether the next moment and took her warmth with her when I was busy doing something else.