By Stephanie Stevens

Op-Ed Commentary

My friend Jennifer Williames died earlier this year.

The day I am writing this is Oct. 5, her birthday. And it has taken me this long to really get my head around it all.

But when I saw that people were posting on her Facebook page wishing her a great day, clearly not knowing she was gone, I realized I had done her a disservice not writing about her sooner.

I got a message via Facebook from a friend of hers named Jorlene back in March this year. She had been trying rather frantically to find a family member to talk to. When I connected with her, I understood why.

Jen had passed away alone in her apartment of natural causes, but when she was finally found, no one could find any contact information for family. Somehow the police contacted Jorlene, who works at the Calgary library Jen frequented. Jorlene said they had forged a casual friendship over the years, chatted whenever Jen came in, went for an ice cream now and then. And thank goodness they did.

Had it not been for Jorlene being so dogged in her quest to find Jen’s family, she may well have been buried in an unclaimed persons’ section in a Calgary cemetery.

But Jorlene did reach out. Facebook does have some practical uses, and through it, Jorlene contacted me, and I contacted Jen’s cousins here, the Dehart family. Enter Dusty Dehart, ever the organizational powerhouse, who found and contacted Jen’s mom, who had gone back to Jamaica years ago.

Thankfully, instead of being interred with no one to mourn her, Jen’s ashes went home to her mom and sisters.

I had not seen Jen for several years. The last time we were together in person, in fact, would have been 20 years ago, while I was at SAIT. We got together a few times during those two years, but after that we stayed in touch mainly via messages and the odd phone call. We always threatened to get together and “raise a ruckus,” but we were always, it seemed, too busy.

Then I did not hear from her for a long time. Now I realize that is due to a car accident she had around 2013, one that left her badly injured, learning to walk again and struggling with the effects of a severe concussion. Jorlene was one of the few people Jen continued to interact with, and she said she truly admired how hard Jen was working to regain her mobility and life. Always private to begin with, after the accident Jen was doubly so.

When we were in high school, we lived quite close to one another. For a couple of years, just a five-minute walk away. We would get off the bus together, drop off our stuff and wander around the hills in Dry Gulch. Sometimes we would cloister in my room and talk about the typical teenage stuff, sometimes in her room, always several degrees warmer than my place because, Jen said, her mom Ermina missed Jamaica.

Ah Jen. My mind is filled with images, like a photo collage, of things we did together… getting ready for the disco, you telling me you did not like mascara because it “made your eyelashes squeak,” longs walks, music in our rooms, hallways lunches and sitting together in Earth Sciences class. Oh Jen, do you remember the time we went to the party in Dutch Creek? The one with the cute guys? We thought we were so stealthy, but after you dropped me off at my place at 3 a.m., your foot slipped off the clutch and you ended up crashing over the rock wall and into the yard at our place, the house behind the old Mohawk. No one was hurt, but oh man, was I scared when I saw my dad come out the front door!

We laughed about it later. A lot later.

After graduation we all went our separate ways. There was no social media then, no email. But we would call on the good old landline, less and less over the years.

The last time we were together I took a photo of you. We were on Stephen Avenue Mall, walking around, sometime in winter. We went into Banker’s Hall because I liked the light in there.

The last message I had was in July 2017, with our old code about it being time to let our hair down and get together: “My hair is all over the place! I am feeling kind of crazy. What’s happening with Diane? Jennifer.”

I can wish all I want, but the fact it, we never kept that date. And I am so sorry. I am sorry I did not know about the accident that robbed you of your athleticism and your vitality. I should have tried harder to make that date happen.

But I am so thankful that even though we did not get together, Jorlene was there for you, and in the end, she was the most vital of your friends. I cannot thank her enough for ensuring you were not forever alone.

Happy birthday Jen. I will put on some 80s pop, have myself an ice cream cone and dance around the garden today. I will remember you as I look across the valley to the little spot we grew up together in Dry Gulch. I can just see it from the bluff.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue.

It is a perfect day. You would have loved it.

Xo

– Stephanie Stevens is a Columbia Valley based writer and photographer

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