We were all there—Judy, Korin and Bettina—a chosen family, dreaming dreams money could buy, as well as those it could not. So long ago now, but I have photos that spark memories of that lighter, happier time when the moments we stood within seemed bright with future. Standing at the edge of the world, we felt big in our littleness…big because the sea was big, the beach was big, the sky was big…big because we were part and parcel of it all.

Today, there are just two of us. Korin has married and no longer lives nearby. Bettina has passed to the other side. I ask her, “What is time like now?” There is no reply, only a flutter of feathery heartbeats that I like to think come from her, hovering overhead, whispering: “It’s great…all good…wait and see…you’ll love it!”

And so I wait. Like most persons of age, I have vivid memories of things past and they are often tinged with a warmth I can only call nostalgia. Fifteen years ago when we all stood on this beach and dreamed eastward across the ocean, I had no notion of endings, only possibilities. I miss my little family as it was. I miss everything about it. I am Mamacita, standing still and waiting for what comes next.

I miss Bettina.

This particular week has been without tunnels and it’s good to have emotional space from feelings of great loss. But I still have two or three boxes of her things to dispose of one way or another. Some things just need to be boxed up and sent to her siblings. Others just need a firm mind to keep, discard or distribute. Each category has stymied me as daily I pass by with recognition that I really must get on with this and vacate this section of studio floor, for this is where my grandchildren’s doll house will reside once it arrives.

Buried in one of these boxes are cards and children’s drawings made especially for Bettina in those last weeks. Children were a delight to her in her last days and weeks, and their gifts to her were special. She had them tacked up all over her room. One of her special little friends is already quite a fine artist—an innate gift to be sure.

This morning, as I sat down to the computer, my eyes rested on one of Jasmine’s drawings that apparently I’d set aside for some now unknown, future reference. Here it has been for months, right next to me, but buried under piles of stuff…you know what I mean by that, right? Stuff is what you have to get to…sometime in the near future, like bills, statements, letters, receipts, photocopies of things you thought important enough to save. I saw this drawing and I said YES! So am I little girl, so am I…

]]> http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/08/20/hovering/feed/ 4 http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/04/19/the-story-lives-on/ http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/04/19/the-story-lives-on/#comments Mon, 19 Apr 2010 21:55:08 +0000 Naomi http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/?p=472 ]]> From a sermon to Chicago Community Mennonite Church, April 11, 2010 by Nancy Myers. Nancy was a dear friend to Bettina and to all of us. This is a story I know Bettina is pleased to share with you. She gets to do that by proxy and I do too.

Rejoice in the Story

The power of the Holy Spirit may be described in sermons, but it is only fully revealed in story. Each story is a unique series of events that could only have been directed by God. This is how it happened. This is what is happening. Do you see it?

My husband and I are loosening our ties to Chicago Community Mennonite Church because we now live 100 miles away fulltime. We may eventually move even farther away. But the ties that bind us here are really strong. These ties are not only the ties of friendship, although those are very important.  They are not only to the beliefs we share, the way we worship, and the way we fellowship, although those are very important. But the ties are also to the story of God at work in this congregation. Leaving this congregation would mean stepping out of that story, perhaps beginning a new story with another congregation, but this kind of move is difficult. Momentous. We will want to know what happened after, and what will happen next.

Here’s a recent thread of our congregation’s story. Some years ago the Holy Spirit called a ragtag little congregation to take a stand on behalf of its gay and lesbian members. This made it possible, last summer, for the Holy Spirit to direct a family of women to this congregation. One of the women, Bettina, was dying, and as she was dying the Holy Spirit spoke through her, giving us lessons on living and dying. Because of these experiences, the Holy Spirit led some healers in the congregation to begin practicing their gifts together and the Holy Spirit prompted some victims to become reconcilers.

As such events happen we are changed, and the character of our community is changed, and we serve as agents of change and messengers of the good news of this whole new life.

If we are a purely human community, bent on deciding by ourselves how we should be and what we should do, we will fail. If it is of God, the story will continue, as the story of the gospels and Acts continues to this very day. Nothing can stop it.

Rejoice forever in the story God is creating.

—Nancy Myers

Not coming up with anything to write, I decided to look through my notes and found this little snippet that I wrote lovingly about dear Bettina-Worker-Bee some time last winter, before the humor turned purple:

I live with a business engineer, a fixer of problems, a leader of persons. All day long Bettina sits in a big chair with a computer and a headset. I am in a room below, just far enough away to hear the conversations rippling along as I am working, and in my own world. Every now and then I actually hear, or I should say listen to, what is being said. After many, many months of this I have been able to piece a few things together…enough to know that Tina is something of a symphony conductor, keeping a whole group, or team of persons working together in comparative harmony. No small fete, I’d say.

They have their own language and I like to tease her about it. It’s great fun to throw these in every now and then like a salad.

Acceptance rate

Approval rate

Circle back

Good with that!

It’s all good! It’s all good

It’s all about…

Moving the needle on this thing.

No worries!

Qualification rate

Reach-out

Right? Pause for 3 seconds

Shoot you an email

Take rate

We’re all about…

Zen, baby, zen!

Of course, I am writing in hindsight—it’s gone from my house now—this popular business-speak, but if I listen with my ears tuned to the memory channel, I can still hear it. Those of you who worked with Tina may even hear her voice if you listen with your memory too.

Stacked in front of me are cards and letters expressing your love and support to us, her adopted family. It has been 45 days since Tina passed from our midst. She was not perfect…not a saint by any means, but she made a difference in our lives and yours. Judy, Korin and I want to thank all of you who wrote to us, spoke to us, sent care packages, made donations made in her name.

You have made a difference in our lives—our before and afterward lives.

]]> http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/04/13/open-letter-thank-you/feed/ 2 http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/04/06/letter-to-bettina/ http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/2010/04/06/letter-to-bettina/#comments Tue, 06 Apr 2010 21:07:00 +0000 Naomi http://visitbettina.wordpress.com/?p=450 ]]> Kathy Morrissey, Bettina’s oldest friend since coming to Chicago from Miami so many years ago, shared these thoughts about their friendship at the memorial:

Bettina often talked about the quality of a person’s heart. When asked for a reference or for a description of a person, most people would measure by intelligence, experience, personality, dependability or any number of traits. For Bettina, the highest praise she could give was…
he or she has a good heart. This may not be much help to a prospective employer, but in a friend it’s a good thing. Bettina had a good heart.

When I learned that Bettina had to prepare herself for a certain and imminent death, I wrote her a letter to say good-bye and to assure her that despite not having the time to achieve everything she wanted, she had made a difference in this world. I knew that would be important to her.

I would like to read a part of the letter on the theme of making a difference.

I keep coming back to a song from the musical Wicked and it’s called For Good. Here is a part of the lyrics:

I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason
bringing something we must learn
and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them
and we help them in return …
I have been changed for good.
It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime
so let me say before we part
that all of me is made from what I learned from you
you’ll be with me like a handprint on my heart.

I particularly like the imagery of a handprint on my heart.

I want you to know that you have made a difference in this world:

You are the one who consistently models the thoughtful, selfless person—perhaps to an extreme.  You have always talked about what is the right thing to do. Not what is best for you or most expedient, but morally, what is the right thing to do.

You worry about and try to help those who are less fortunate.   I think, with your passion, you could have been an excellent community organizer, or run a charitable foundation.

You have a way of making people feel that you care about them—though perhaps you overdo that as evidenced by your blog activity and calendar

You separate the problem from the blame. By this I mean, at work when there is a problem and others would jump to laying blame, you focus on fixing the problem. Later you deal with the personal failings that caused the problem.

Your continually upbeat, optimistic attitude and seemingly boundless energy are infectious, making you an effective leader and a friend who is fun to be around.

These are some of the things I will remember about you and they will remind me to try and be a more charitable and hospitable person. This is the hand print you have left on my heart.

My hope for you now is that you know you are loved, know you will be sorely missed, and understand that in your short time with us, you have made a difference. I hope that you will feel comforted by the enveloping love and support of your family and friends. Your absence will leave a hole that cannot be filled and will continually remind me of the lovely person you are.

Meditation

Even in deep darkness, our sheltering God holds us. We release our grip on earthly things and open ourselves.

How fitting that I have the privilege to address you this particular Sunday—these meditations are scheduled far enough in advance that no one would have predicted just how fitting it might be for me to deliver this message today. We now know that I am looking at a short period of time before I get to cross over to see God, and I will literally release my grip on all earthly things and open myself completely to God.

I’ve learned a thing or two these past few weeks—one is that I can be very much alive, and yet gladly relinquish my earthly possessions, especially if it is as a way to get closer to God. I have had the blessing of time to get “my house in order,” and I’ve made arrangements to give away everything I own—my will is in order, and everything is set. I also gave up a job that I enjoyed, that facilitated a certain lifestyle; but, it really was not my perfect job. I had hoped to retire next year, and then start my perfect job doing mission work, which would have included riding around the country with Naomi and Judy in a peace van. I felt that if God did not have other plans for me, that would be a great way for me to live out my remaining days, serving others in his name. I bet you can picture the three of us in matching tie-dyed T-shirts and a big satellite dish on the top of the van so that we could access the internet from remote areas in the U.S.    What a dream gig. I now see that God has other plans for me.

I have spent a fair bit of these last few weeks in solitude, praying and asking God to help me find my way as I get ready to see him. God’s response has been to bless me with time and energy—so that I could say goodbye to many friends/colleagues, and make amends with friends at Lombard Mennonite Church and my family. Last week, I gave a sharing at LMC, and the focus of my sharing was on reconciliation. I apologized to the congregation for having left as abruptly as I had back in June, and they forgave me. The church apologized to me for the things they did that did not align with what God would have us do, and all was forgiven.

I had spent several nights worrying about how last Sunday would go, until I finally let go and prayed to God for help. After that, I had no more worries. Things went very well. As in Psalm 27, I saw goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I waited for the Lord, I was strong, I took heart, and I waited on the Lord. I felt God’s presence in the sanctuary at LMC last Sunday, as he held the pastor and me up. While I cannot speak for the pastor, I think he probably felt the same way. We had been given grace.  God did not let us fall—he took care of us. And…we all shared in a time of peace and reconciliation.

During these past months, I have felt a change in me; a transformation if you will. I have felt a prescient need to follow Jesus in a way that I had not felt so urgently and deliberately before. I, like David in Psalm 27, have been praying that I may dwell in the house of the Lord for the rest of my days. I’m not really sure that I fully understand what it means to live in God’s house, but I see it as living in community with God, and walking with God each day. I know that God is in me, and I feel his presence more strongly each day.

As I read in Philippians, I kept thinking about how I no longer live for earthly things, how I cannot live without Christ, and how I cannot even imagine anyone living as an enemy of the cross of Christ. And…I know that I have changed. I think that this is partly because my time is near, and that God is actually doing the bulk of the work. He is carrying me, and all I see is our path. This seems logical because I am at my most vulnerable state, and I don’t feel that I am walking any path very well these days. As in Genesis, when God reminds Abram not to be afraid for God is his shield, his very great reward, I too, am reminded not to be afraid for God is my shield and my very great reward. Abram was such a faithful follower, and God rewarded him for his faithfulness. I pray that I can be a small fraction as faithful as Abram.

In Luke, as I think about Jesus telling the Pharisees, “I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, Blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord,” I realize that my greatest desire is to honor and serve God. Every day I ask God to help me understand how I can serve him today. This is every day. My sense is that for every day he gives me, I have a purpose, and that is to do his will. I have been spending as much of the little energy I have in trying to serve him.  Every day it is something different, and I’m not sure that I am getting it right, but He knows that my heart is in the right place. I think that this is what he asks of us.

It’s not so difficult to let go of earthly things when we know the joy of pleasing our beloved Father…the joy he feels and the joy we feel when we get closer to him. He does not ask much of us, but he lovingly reminds us that worldly possessions are not filled with the Holy Spirit. In fact, earthly possessions get in the way of our relationship with him/her.

As I get ready to meet him, I find myself quietly distancing from the worldly things I know—they seem not to matter anymore. The only thing that is important to me is to let go of the things that don’t really matter, and hang on to that which does matter.  This is an everyday adventure—trying to figure out where to focus my energy. The moment I stop trying so hard, and I open myself up to God, he lets me know. This is how I seem to manage to stay on our path. Sometimes he carries me, other times he holds my hands, and sometimes he just watches over me.

This gives me peace and tranquility—knowing that he is always with me. I cannot imagine going through my current experience without him.

Even in deep darkness, our sheltering God holds us. We release our grip on earthly things and open ourselves.

I’d like to close with my current favorite poem by the Sufi Master, Hafiz (c.1320-1389) from The Gift, translations by Daniel Ladinsky.

Everywhere.

Running

Through the streets

Screaming,

Throwing rocks through windows,

Using my own head to ring

Great bells,

Pulling out my hair,

Tearing off my clothes,

Tying everything I own

To a stick,

And setting it on

Fire.

What else can Hafiz do tonight

To celebrate the madness,

The joy,

Of seeing God

Everywhere!

Pastor, Megan Ramer assisting Bettina at the start of her meditation.

I have two daughters. One has gone on to meet God. The other is striving to know God.

Bettina Maria Ortiz was born on September 22, 1961 to Juan Ramon and Eva Ortiz in Maracaibo, Venezuela. She had an older sister, Maira, a younger brother, Jose Maria and many, many relatives and friends.

The family immigrated to the United States when Bettina was ten years old. She learned English quickly and became an American citizen by the time she was seventeen. She was smart, quick and immensely talented.

We met her quite by chance fourteen or fifteen years ago through mutual friends. At the time she was about a third of the way along in her highly successful career at Household Retail Services—now HSBC (Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation). She was as hardworking and serious as she was upbeat. We took an instant liking to each other…all of us, Korin, Judy, Bettina and me. Korin and Bettina became close friends and slowly a family…like a photo emerging in the chemical bath. There were ups and downs, ins and outs, but we stayed together: a chosen family.

I’m not sure when she first referred to herself as my adopted daughter. It’s a little hazy because I didn’t really believe she meant it. I think we may have both been flirting with the idea…she needing a mom after losing her own in an auto accident; I always wanting another chance to put my mother skills to work after having practiced them on an only child. Her mother would have been about the same age as I when Tina and I met.

Except for the six months Bettina and Korin lived in Orlando, we lived in close proximity, at one point even living across the street from each other. Our lives intertwined a great deal—vacations, parties, dinners and plenty of problem solving. Then in 2006, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, just two months after my own diagnosis of non-Hodgkin lymphoma. We entered a new era of relationship and neither of us would ever be the same again.

She called me Kimosabe. We traveled through dark tunnels alongside each other. We were time travelers with passports, but hers had limitations. We all knew it, but did not look closely. When her cancer recurred for the third time last year, we asked her to come live with us so that we could take care of her. We thought that with her buoyancy and our care, she’d be the exception to the grim, ovarian cancer statistics.

Life went rolling on in hills and valleys last year as we cast our lots together through both pain and joy, and became a band of three as well as a family of four. I don’t quite remember when she first started calling me Mamacita, but I was ready to hear it. By the time of her fourth recurrence late last year, it was just Mama. By the second week of hospice the sound of it was sweet…

As of January 25^th there were just five weeks left to hear that word and I cherished every single time she affirmed my love and final role in her life with that form of address. We learned so much from each other: she to take counsel and I to respect her autonomy and right to die as she chose. We talked about death many times. We shared our thoughts and concerns for each other. There were times of tears and goodbyes, but we were always mindful of the responsible task it is to die well. It was my privilege to be the primary care giver and adopted mother, to see this child of God Home… And I did… and I do. I will never be the same. I gave her unconditional love. She gave me a chance to know, in a way I had not known before, my own God-given mothering self.

When I think of her in her last days, completely open and reflecting the face of God to one and all…when I think of the light she became at warp speed…I see that light blending perfectly with God-light and I am blessed and amazed. For I have walked with her to the doorway and I stand there sometimes in wonder, and just a little bit wanting to be there too.

I think this eighth century Sufi poem by Rubia, translated by Daniel Ladinsky tells Tina’s last story as I felt it and breathed it.

CHERISH MYSELF

 

I know how it will be when I die,

my beauty will be so extraordinary that God will worship me.

He will not worship me from a distance,

for our minds will have wed,

our souls will have flowed into each other.

How to say this: God and I

will forever cherish

Myself.

I have two daughters. One has become one with God. The other is striving to walk with God. I am blessed by both.

The service began with the song that was playing on Tina’ iTunes when she died: Listen, God is Calling. We walked in and placed the ashes, the photo and the little icon she’s had since childhood, on the altar. Also on the altar was a prayer shawl made for her and three of her handmade candles. Yellow was her favorite color. This is how it looked.

We had lovely programs available for all. If you were not able to be present and would like to have one, please let me know in the comments area or the Write to Us page.

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The final week of preparations for Bettina’s memorial are underway. There are many people involved in this tribute, but I am most aware of my own shaky standing. I am ready and not at all ready. I hear the opening song…Listen God is Calling…and imagine carrying in the small bronze box of ashes…walking up to the altar and placing them there, just so, then sitting down with the remainder of my family. There will be beautiful and wondrous offerings of music, dance, poetry, scripture. There will be things said and done, but I am so tuned in to the remembrance I will give that I cannot get to sleep…cannot allow sleep to come. I will read the words I’ve written. Listen: This is who she was to me. I will do this wholly and partly awake and asleep, for the pain of it is unbearable even as I think about it.

Grieving is not easy, friends. It’s not something to just get over because when you lose someone important to your life, your life changes forever. We are never the same after grief has visited us.

God will grant me grace. God’s Jesus Spirit will cover us all and she will be hovering, just like she promised. It will be wonderful and terrible all at the same time. I will be closer to my sister I lost last year because now I have lost a daughter just as she did fifteen years ago. It won’t just be cancer that we have in common or the same set of relatives. I am unable to catch the words as they tumble through my solar plexus.

Just a word to all who want to offer help and condolence to one who grieves: Asking that person, “How are you?” may seem reasonable to you, but it is difficult for the grieving  person to give an honest answer. There is no reliable way to answer, so just tell that person you are glad to them. Let that person know that they are loved and cared about. What a grieving person wants is support and understanding. They are experiencing loss and loss hurts in very personal ways. Something has ended. Time is a friend friends can give.

—Naomi