Ellen was someone I didn't see often growing up, but our families were friends, and so we were, too. We entertained each other at my grandparents' house at Passover, and at family visits. After we grew up, we ran into each other once in awhile. Since we were both teachers, we always had something to talk about. One of those onces was at a party where I introduced her to an ex-boyfriend of mine (not one that I minded being an ex). The next thing I knew they were getting married. Not a good idea, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. The short marriage brought Ellen what she wanted most-- a child. Her husband, not at all child oriented, agreed to adopting a child. When the marriage ended, Ellen still had what was important to her, her son. I heard stories about the son from time to time. He was wild. Ellen's mother, who they lived with for a time, was afraid of him. And then I didn't hear anything about Ellen for a couple of years.
Last spring, Ellen disappeared. She didn't come to school. Her dogs were left alone. Her car was found in another apartment complex. Her son was a suspect in her disappearance, but he had an alibi. He was in jail. Last Friday Ellen was found- buried in the Jemez mountains, murdered by her son's wife and friends because she had turned her son in for stealing from her.
Not a close friend, but her life touched mine. It's violence too close. Tragic. Creepy.
Do I offer my condolences to people I've not had contact with for 20 years? Do I keep her memory to myself?
Godspeed, Ellen. Goodbye.
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