Alison's Story
Kimberly Jaworski was a small girl, slight in stature, with blonde hair and brown eyes. We started kindergarten together in the fall of 1976. We were four years old. The school was a small private Catholic school, the church was on the first floor of the school. Mrs. Dudley was our teacher and we played with blocks and doll houses, brought our lunch in metal lunchboxes depicting Raggedy Ann. We learned to spell our names and sang songs accompanied by Mrs. Whidden on the piano. We were sternly lectured to be respective of Mrs. Whidden as she made "pennies' and we were lucky to have her instruction. We sang with great vigor and Mrs. Whidden taught us that God loved our voices, no matter how horrible we perceived ourselves to sound. We went to Mass twice a week, and a third time on Sundays with our parents. Kim and I were featured in the local paper when we graduated from kindergarten. Kim is looking through her diploma as if it is a telescope, searching for the future. Special days were Field Days, when we would tie our ankles together to run a race and feast on hot dogs, chips and soda. The picnic benches outside were formed of concrete and we would carve our names and the ones we loved over the nine years we spent together at the school. Twenty five years later, I walked into that same kindergarten room to meet with other parents whose children were receiving their First Holy Communion and tears filled my eyes. The smell of the room remained the same, and the wonderful memories came flooding back. Other parents looked at me blankly when I said I attended kindergarten in this room, I felt they were intruders.
Kim was always the darling of the class, the smallest, most petite girl. Our class was made up of approximatley 25-30 kids, most of whom continued through eighth grade. In the sixth grade we had a small blonde teacher who adored Kim and despised me. I resented Kim for this perceived slight but by the eighth grade, Kim and I were very close friends.
The friendship grew closer when we transferred to a Catholic High School and her dad drove us to school every day. Kim and I would barely speak in the car accompanied by her older brother and father but on the weekends we would journey about our neighborhoods, sneaking up on prospecive boyfriend's homes and bicycling to the dollar movie theater. We spent many afternoons lamenting our lack of love affairs and daydreaming about our futures. Kim always had beautiful legs, probably from many hours spent playing tennis, and I tried to learn the secrets of shaving from her. A few times we snuck out the window to conduct surveilance on a particurlarly adored boy and her parents finally figured it out. I was banned from sleepovers after that night. It was not my object of affection we were watching, it was Kim's. We had a bet, a $200 bet, they would "scam", or hook up, prior to college. They never did.
Kim stopped me one time on the corner of her street. She told me she had a bad feeling she wouldn't live to see college. I told her she was crazy and a drama queen. She said she thought she would die young. It is a moment I can not stop replaying in my mind.
In high school, Kim and I remained friendly, althouth not close. We went to some parties together and there was always a feeling of loyalty that never diminished. Kim was much more popular than I, involved in many clubs and committees, determined to be successful.
I struggled and ultimately transferred to public school my junior year. Kim still reached out and invited me sporadically to parties her friends were attending. By 17, I ran off with a boy three years my senior and quit school. Kim sent me numerous letters, begging me to rethink my decision and offering her family's home as a place of refuge. Kim and I exchanged letters during that time period, hers full of wisdom for a girl her age, mine I am sure, full of ignorance.
I believe she met my baby, I do not recollect. I know she continued her education and became well versed in Spanish.
When I was about 27, I was a single mother with a nine year old daughter. I was taking my daughter to Mass regularly, searching for an answer. One evening, a prayer was said for Kim Jaworski, sick with cancer.
I called the nun who knew both of us from our days at school and she told me Kim was suffering from ovarian cancer.
I reached out for our friends from fourteen years ago and begged them to send cards to Kim. I found one friend living in Georgia, working as an accountant. Another had a landscape business with her sister locally. I sent a card and included my address and phone number. Kim had recently married and was living about fory minutes south of her hometown.
This is the part I hate to write about, hate to think about. I was involved in an ugly relationship at the time. This man consumed me and everything I cared about, I pushed to the side. I know Kim called me and left a message at some point during that time. She was in remission, she was happy and doing great, she would be in town soon and would love to see me. I ignored her message. Why? I do not know. Was I selfishly involved? Probably. Was I afraid of death? Definately. Did I feel I was not yet successful enough to impress her? Most likely.
Regardless, I ignored the message. I will never stop regretting it. I think about Kim at least once a month and tears come to my eyes. I should have had lunch with her, drank a margarita, laughed with her. She would not have cared how successful I was.
One day, I think it was in 2002, I opened the local section of the paper and scanned the obituaries. I was at work, sitting in the local diner at the bar. Immediately, tears flodded my eyes as I read Kimberly Jaworski Graser was dead. The waitress who served me every day saw my face and asked if I was all right. I couldn't speak and left the restaurant. I felt like my heart was broken. She died anyway, when I heard she was better, I thought she would be o.k. but she died, and I felt so guilty. No funeral service was planned, it would be announced at a later date.
I immediately sent flowers to her mother who I knew since I was four. I expressed my sympathy and asked to be notified of any memorial service.
About a year later, I ran into a former teacher who lived across the street from Kim. She told me the memorial service was beautiful.
I never got a chance to say good bye to Kim, but with all of her wisdom, I believe she probably knew how much she was loved. I hope so anyway.
Your book has helped me with my guilt to a degree. Maybe others will read about the mistake I made and avoid making the same mistake. I think about Kim's mom every Mother's Day, right around the time she died. I think about sending a card, but I do not want to bother her....I am afraid I will always be bothered by this error in judgement.
Thank you,
Alison