My friend just died, making me cornhole champion, so thanks?

I have a very super cool friend. Her name is Becky. Not “was” Becky. It IS “Becky.”

She’s just not here physically, anymore. I think–hope–she went to a tiki bar in the Bahamas.

I am broken hearted. Shocked. Sad. Mad. Guilty. You Name It.

I have seen a lot of bad sh– before, and I have to say that hands down, seeing my friend’s son standing over her grave, struggling to deal with his grief, was the worst.

A couple days before the funeral, I’d shown my own son photos of Becky. He told me how beautiful she was…and then I completely lost my sh–…and realized that I wasn’t ready to look at photos of her. I’m still not. I’m not sure when I will be.

When I met Becky, I took to her immediately. Like me, she was super sarcastic, and had a dark sense of humor, so I stalked her as a “potential friend” as soon as I’d met her. Soon, she had fallen into my dark clutches in my ongoing desperate search for friends who “got me.” She called it like she saw it, and never shied away from her opinions, even if they might not be so popular. Another ballsy chick. Yes, please!

Becky was also as cute as a button. A year younger than me, she looked about 20 years younger than me. And that’s why I loved yet hated her

We had a lot in common–except our athleticism. If you can call Cornhole “athleticism.” Becky was always the Chick Cornhole Champion. However, let’s face it–she had one up on me. Her family had a Cornhole set at home. From the masterful way she played, I think she played every day when she got home from work, into the dark of night.

While my credo is, throw it in the general direction of the board and hope for the best, because who even cares, anyway.

So.

Life isn’t fair, and we all know it. Becky is gone something like 40 years too soon. How is that even a thing.

Now Becky is not here? Not breathing the same air as me? How is this a thing? Who “deserves this?”

Well, I have a list of who deserves it more than she did, and near the top, or maybe even at the top, would be…

ME.

When we found out she was sick, I talked to “God,” in case there was one, and told Him that I was OK going instead of my friend. My friend had a lot more to experience. She had plans with her husband who she loved so much, to retire and continue to live a beautiful life together.

I don’t even like to travel. I like to sit around thinking about all the mistakes I’ve made. I live alone, which makes that convenient. I love my kids so much, but let’s face it — they have already moved on with their lives. They’re boys. They love me to pieces. So much that they’ve already planned my funeral, particularly the bands that will appear. (ATTENTION, AMY LEE/EVANESCENCE AND SARA BAREILLES.) That’s OK. Life goes on.

I am exaggerating to make a point, a bit, but I bet there are some of you readers who may feel the same way. 55? I’ve checked off the boxes I wanted to. See ya. I do not fear dying. (Unless you stab me repeatedly while I am still conscious. That is not OK.)

Here I am. Here we are. Becky left first.

We can all ask why why why all day long. Why such an amazing person. It won’t change anything.

When we were called about her terminal ALS diagnosis 18 months ago, my friends and I had been having a great night, singing along to an acoustic act. The band was taking all requests, like Margaritaville, and Amie, and we were having so much fun. Then we got the phone call, and it was so serious we were asked to take the call outside. And all time stopped.

As I heard the unimaginable news about the ALS diagnosis, I lost the feeling in my legs, and slid down the back of my car to the ground.

Thinking back to the insidious beginning of Becky’s illness…she had been totally on top of her health and all over this one, so at least learned about the diagnosis months earlier than she would have, had she not been so sharp and assertive with her health care. I remember her telling me, “They say it could be anything from sciatica, to MS, or even ALS,” and I comfortingly replied, “Well of course it couldn’t be MS, and certainly not ALS.” Because, who would have thought? But she knew, I think.

What I have learned from Becky and what you should know: No one cares more about you than you. No one knows more about you than you. Your doctor cares about you, but only so much. They have a lot of patients. Hound them, hound them, hound them. Get answers. Get tests. You don’t get what you don’t ask for. Just because someone has a medical degree does not mean they are thinking about you and your symptoms frequently and what they can do for you. They have a job, and it is taking care of hundreds of patients; thousands, even.

It only occurred to me a couple days ago that Becky had an unusual episode three years ago right in front of me and many others, 18 months before her diagnosis. We had a milestone birthday party for her and she fell down. She wasn’t inebriated. She just fell down. We laughed and thought that maybe she tripped. None of us thought anything of it at the time.

But looking back, it may have been one of the first signs of her illness.

Hindsight is 20/20. In my imagination, I would have rushed her to the hospital, where she would have gotten her diagnosis, and at least tackled a bunch of sh– on her bucket list while she still could get around. But at the time – it was just a chick falling down. Where do you draw the line between Hysterical Hypochondriac and Let’s Check On Our Health, Shall We? I don’t know. She went to the doctor pretty early on — but still waited a year for them to give her a solid diagnosis.

Please, look out for your own health; don’t take your doctor’s word as gospel. My friend was always a vocal advocate for looking out for your own health and getting second opinions. SECOND OPINIONS MATTER.

We are taught at a young age not to question our elders, our teachers, our ministers, or doctors. Please do. My PCP’s nickname for me is “Dr. Google” and often says “Stop Googling, Jane” but you know what? I Dr. Googled the symptoms of another friend’s rare illness and it ended up saving their life. (Note: I didn’t save their life on purpose. It was totally random. I am not counting the 5,000 times I Googled my own symptoms and came up with inaccurate diagnoses. I take no credit.) Unfortunately, this didn’t apply in Becky’s situation. It was rare, but not that rare, and the diagnosis was clear.

I Dr. Google everything my PCP says, and he can get mad at me all he wants and give me sh– on URMC MyChart–and keep it coming, Doc. I’m not giving up.

Anyway, this certainly isn’t about me. Here we are. We don’t have our loved one Becky anymore, physically. But we still have her in our hearts. If you look out for your own health; and don’t take your doctor’s word for it, I suspect Becky might would feel better about it. Like she made a difference. She’s made a difference in my life, anyway. Well, for one thing, she taught me the secrets of Cornhole! But other more important stuff, too. She was a great listener and then offered her two cents and I was always like, you totally get it, Becky.

And you know what? I’m going to try harder at mastering the Cornhole game. It is super fun. It won’t be the same fun as when she played. At all. We might not be able to get the game out of the garage for a couple years. It might get thrown out. And it might take a long time for me and others to not associate the game with her.

But I know I can be better at cornhole than the most worst, and I know she will be wholeheartedly rooting for me. So I will try.

I love you, Becky.

Jane