Remembering Beatrice Hickey 1940-2004

Well, I got the phone call yesterday evening while while walking through Times Square: my godmother has died. She was 64. She was also my mother's best friend, and the one who got her through the serious lung surgery Mom nearly died from back in 1975.



Gloria (my co-worker) had just turned down 44th Street to find a FedEx, and my phone rang. Instinctively, I knew. It was my mother, crying. Bea died of heart and kidney malfunction along with diabetes. The fluid she retained was too great for her body to pass. I am now trying to find out where the funeral is, since neither Mom nor I can get her husband on the phone. He is greatly distressed (of course) since they were inseperable throughout almost 40 years of marriage. They had no children, just each other.



My first memory of Bea was my communion back in 1979. She wore a pineapple hairdo with curls and a long floral dress. I always remember her smiling, never a bad thing to say about anyone, never a sarcastic joke. She was the straight guy to my mother's perennial Gracie Allen Antics and general silliness. In recent years, we did not keep in touch that much (although I did speak to her last Easter), but she managed to show for all the major events in my life. She liked to say to my mom that I was the daughter she never had, and Bea took it as a great honor to be my godparent. My christening, my communion, birthdays, my grammar and high school graduations, and most recently, my father's death in 2001.



My last memory of mom, me and Bea together is a very funny one: we sat in Polonica, a great Polish restaurant near me. It had been 2 days since my father's funeral, and my mother was thinking of diversions to get her mind off the grief. Bea suggested we rent a movie or something. My mother stated she wanted to see "Shrek", and enthusiastically enlisted Bea to get the tape and come over (despite my cats) to watch it. Bea's face was priceless. "WHAT? Oh, Philly! I'm not gonna watch that! That 's a kid's movie!" I chimed in about how great it really was and that it had enough jokes for both kids and adults. Bea could not be persuaded. She was a "Dr. Zhivago" kind of movie-goer, if it wasn't classic, she wouldn't see it. Still, we had a good laugh. We always had good laughs.



Even though she was terrified of cats for most of her life, Bea gladly accepted photo Christmas cards both my mom and I made for her of our little fuzzers attacking the tree, or rolling around, or playing with yarn. Understanding us meant understanding them, but that was as close as Bea could get to these creatures, such was her fear. It was a terror that ran deep and prevented many holidays and such being held at our apartment, but there were always phone calls and birthday cards.



When both Bea and Mom hit rough patches within their families, they had each other to lean on. I don't think I could count the times my mom has said, "She was the one who always most kind to me. You wish and pray for a friend like that. Just once." The respect and love ran so deep. And today is my mom's birthday. She's 42. Again. (Has been, too, since 1978, lol!)



Well, I guess both of us can look at it another way: we have yet another angel to protect us and visit us in our dreams.



Billy Joel was right again: only the good die young. 64 is the middle, certainly not the end of a life.



Bea, you were a GEM. We will not forget you.