Rose

Special people come into your life when you least expect it, steal a place in your heart and stay there forever.  That’s how it was for me with Rose Drabich.

Rose and I bonded over our mutual love of Rutgers Women’s Basketball.  I remember exactly when we met.  It was in Hartford, CT., in March, 2007, at the Big East Basketball Tournament.  I was enjoying my first year of retirement from J&J and thrilled to be able to go to the tournament for the first time.  The fact that I didn’t know anyone and wasn’t a member of the Cagers Club (the official fan club) didn’t deter me.  I drove up alone, arranged to stay about 10 miles away at the home of a friend, and made my way to the arena.  There I found myself sitting under the basket, the lone red-clad fan in a sea of blue UConn Huskies, and more than a little uncomfortable with my surroundings.  As I scanned the arena, I noticed a contingent of people sporting Rutgers sweatshirts.  After the first game, I made my way to the corridor behind their seats, where I ran into the one person I knew, Sally, whom I remembered from my days at Johnson & Johnson.  She was with a little woman with short hair and glasses, whom she introduced as Rose.

I was immediately put at ease by her friendly and sweet demeanor.  It wasn’t long after that initial meeting that I found out how much we had in common.  We each lived in Hillsborough, drove an old Mercedes that we loved, and we both had survived colon cancer.  Rose and her family owned the Lobster Dock in Hillsborough, and her daughter had married the brother of one of my sister’s best friends.  That made us practically related, I figured.  She was short, sweet and a little spicy.  She reminded me of my mother.  I sat with Rose and Sally that day and at many games thereafter. 

2007 was the year Rutgers made it to the Championship game in Cleveland, where the Final Four was held.  Again, I went alone, and it turned out that my hotel was within walking distance of the place the Cagers were staying.  Rose went out of her way to make me feel welcome and included.  It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

By the next year, I was driving Rose to games, or sometimes we’d see a movie together.  Special people have the uncanny ability to make you feel as if you have been friends forever, and that’s how I felt about Rose.  I used to chide her for not inviting me to her 75th birthday party.  “But I didn’t know you then,” she’d protest.  “Sure,” I’d reply.  “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”  She made sure I came to her 80th birthday, and there was a special table for her basketball friends.  I felt privileged to be one of the chosen, and thrilled to take a picture of Rose with her wonderful children, twin daughters Lisa and Lori and sons Mark and Michael, which I had framed and gave her as a memento of a special day for a special woman.  It was still on display in her home the last time I saw her. 

Rose was the most dedicated Rutgers fan you can imagine.  She frequently hit the road to follow the team to Tennessee or California, and when the NCAA tournament came, Rose would faithfully book a flight to see them in action.  Her son told me once that she had taken a bad fall one day before a game.  Bruised but unbowed, she went anyway.  She loved all of the players, exhorting them to “bend your knees” each time they attempted a foul shot.  As she began to experience health problems, I’d call her or stop by and visit, and we would have in-depth discussions about the strengths and weaknesses of the team and our philosophy of offense and defense. I doubt the coaching staff spent more time analyzing the team than we did, but always in the most positive terms.

In 2008, I was looking for a local place to take aqua aerobics classes to help my aching knees, and Rose steered me to the Hillsborough Pool and Racquetball Club, where she went.  See, we did have a lot in common.  I signed up and she introduced me to all of the ladies as her friend.  I felt lucky to be one of the many people who knew and loved her.  I used to tease her, calling her “Miss Popularity,” because her cell phone would ring constantly as one of her children would always be trying to track her down.  She was off and running, enjoying life to the fullest as long as she could.

Around that time, Rose began having problems with walking.  By the time we went to Oklahoma for an NCAA Tournament, she needed a wheelchair to get around the airport.  I told her we were lucky because we got to board the plane first.  When we went to St. Thomas for a Thanksgiving tournament the next year, she was using a walker.  Never one to give up, Rose consulted numerous doctors trying to figure out an accurate diagnosis so she could get better.  It never seemed to occur to her that she wouldn’t get better.  Even having her knee replaced didn’t help, though she held out hope of playing golf again.

As her condition worsened, the news did, too, and ultimately she was diagnosed with ALS, better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, a dreaded affliction that affects the muscles and robs the patient of his or her ability to walk, sit, swallow or breathe.  I’d watch her body betray her, and I’d see her battle to cope.  She’d try any kind of therapy, any device, see any doctor or try any medication to improve her condition.  She remained vital and optimistic even as she eventually lost her ability to speak.  She had a device installed in the house that she could use to tap out words on a screen and the machine would speak the words.  Her last words to me were, “You look good.”

I can’t imagine the feeling of being trapped in a body that is failing you even as your mind remains sharp.  Though she couldn’t speak, when I would visit, we managed to have a conversation anyway – usually about basketball.  Just two weeks ago I sent her an e-mail (phone calls were impossible in the last few months, but she read her e-mails) recounting the details of the recent Rutgers Women’s Basketball Banquet, an annual event she never used to miss but now could no longer attend. 

Her devoted daughters stayed in touch with me and the Cagers, and any Rose news would be shared in the pool among her aqua aerobics friends.  When I sent out a note today letting them know she had passed away, I got a response from one woman saddened by the news who had never met her but felt that she knew her after hearing us talk about her so often and with such fondness. 

But that’s Rose, touching the lives of people who knew her and loved her and those who didn’t even know her.  Today she slipped peacefully away, on her way to a place where her body will no longer imprison her, where she will be reunited with her husband, and where she will lead the cheers for her beloved Scarlet Knights.  I know that every time a kid goes to the line to sink a free throw next season, Rose will be watching.  I hope they bend their knees.