Shelly

Everyone needs supporters in life, and Shelly Altman was one of my greatest. She came into my life about 11 years ago, as the long-time manager of Steve's Music, in Toronto, and regularly donated Fender guitars which were then autographed by the likes of Matchbox 20, Pearl Jam, Alex Lifeson and many more when I'd meet them backstage on behalf of my charity, Artists Against Racism.

She was such a brilliant and kind person, that she was soon a pivatol voice on our board of directors.

When not working manically, Shelly could often be found smoking outside on the sidewalk, something I'd often try to stop--offering her yoga lessons, reiki and more--warning her of the consequences of her continual puffing. "Oh, I'll stop one day, when I'm ready," she'd say, a phrase which would make me wince.

The some-day sadly came a couple years ago when she needed to have half her lung cut out due to lung cancer. Then she had to stop, She even began Quigong which she said gave her remarkably more energy, even with just half a lung sharing oxygen with the rest of her system, and embarked on her next-favorite hobby--entering her dog in dog shows. I happily thought this feisty woman had once again beat the odds.

But the honeymoon didn't last long. Steve's Music wouldn't let her return to work when she was ready, and while the cancer metasticized to the rest of her body she spent the final two years of her life taking her former employers to court to win the funds to feed herself.

Sadly, the victory came too late -- almost to the day when she had to begin a series of massive radiation treatments which would leave her frail and anorexic in a hospital bed, her gaunt body devoid of hair except for some sparse fuzz on her head, her eyes barely able to open. Photos of holocaust survivors or prisoners of war were recurring images in my mind.

Shelly died two days ago, fortunately in her own loving home, with her dog by her side, her rabbit under her bed, her caring neighbors taking care of her. I wish I'd been in town to be there.

I try to remember her as she was in her prime, but the images alternate with the images of her near her end. They flash back and forth, disturbingly in my mind. Perhaps the slideshow will slow down as time passes, as it did with my grandmother a few years ago, and my 96 year old friend, Electa, who passed last year.

Perhaps what disturbs me most is that we cannot easily save another human being--from addictions, from themselves, from the trauma in their minds or even from the corporate marketing and social pressures which entice them to smoke, to drink or to use any other addictive products. The fact that billions of dollars are being made on our inevitable demise does not seem to be deterant enough.

There were and are more Shelly's in my life who met an untimely end from tobacco or cocaine or alcohol, and each has taken a piece of my heart. I see them every day as do we all. What can we do but send them white light if they choose not the path of yoga. Or we can send them reiki, send them daimoku, to send them love. We can listen, we can share our stories, we can love. We can lead a joyous life they may want to follow.

And when even this seems to fail, we can love ourselves and acknowledge that we've done our best. Even when we often feel that our best wasn't enough.

Feel free to share. Have you successfully helped "addicted" friends in your life? Start by taking a breath, a large one, then share. On behalf of my dear friend and the many others who have passed too early, I thank you. I know that Shelly would too.