An Imaginary Conversation with Betty Britton

“Do you really think,” the spirit of Betty Britton says, poking a fork into her imaginary applesauce, “that people really care to read about all the tidbits of my life like you do?”

“Like I do, probably not. But I’m mainly writing for myself. To remember so, so much of our lives together.”

“And punish yourself by dwelling on what is done. Finito. Dust to ash.”

“Actually, I feel like I’m punishing myself when I’m thinking about my empty now, my empty future. I need to delve into our twenty years together. Nothing mattered more in my life. I fear nothing will matter as much in my future. And who says I’m writing all this for other people? I hear they say what I’m doing is therapy.”

“O.K.,” Betty sits back on her couch, done with her cup of applesauce. “What tidbits do you have today?”

“How about your favorite author, Nora Roberts. More than once, I stood beside you in a bookstore while you looked for a new Nora Roberts book. `You got to give the lady,’ I repeatedly told you, `time enough to write a new book before you can read it.’”

“There are some of my books out in the shed. Danielle Steele, mostly. Show them to Bert. We used to trade books all the time.”

“Do you remember developing a long-distance friendship with then-elderly actor Bill Erwin? You met Bill at one Mark Twain conference in Elmira, NY. you recognized him as playing the bellhop in Somewhere in Time, one of your favorite movies. Bill sent you a DVD of the film which I presume I have somewhere. Where else—the shed.”

“While I was never as involved in politics like you were, I’m glad we were both staunch Democrats. I liked Al Gore, both Barack Obama and Hillary. Trump scared me. Him and that hair and all that racism.”

“But you liked George Bush because you thought he looked good in his jeans.”

“He did!”

You also loved all those reality shows. Like Dancing with the Biggest Loser.”

“You made that up! But I was glad you would watch Survivor and Big Brother with me which gave me an excuse to come out to the living room and watch TV with you. Unlike The Voice and American Idol. You really missed something not watching them with me. Some good music there.”

She smiles wickedly. “It was too bad you didn’t like country music. Garth Brooks, Shania Twain, Johnny Cash, yum!”

“During our early years together, you got into New Age meditation music, especially any with a Native American flavor. I have a ton of your CDs out, where else, in the shed that folks can have if they help me dig them out.”

After a pause, I added, “I didn’t realize until the other day that you had a special love for the theme song to the film, Titanic. You had a nice music box that plays “My heart will go on and on.” I’m keeping that, for sure.”

Betty lowers her eyes as I start talking again. “Nothing I can say about Betty Britton that comes closer to your essence is that you always had a big, open heart. You accepted everyone and usually did so very quickly. So you had a lot of friends from all sorts of walks of life.“

“I wasn’t always the best judge of character, especially when it came to my boys. I so wanted them to be happy that I tended to go off the deep end embracing their girlfriends. We all know how that ended up.”

“But, for the most part, your openness was something that made you very special. I remember how things broke down at Holy Spirit when you rather unjustly lost your job due to co-worker nonsense. That wasn’t typical of your interpersonal relationships.”

“I have a much better memory than that! Do you remember the first employee dinner we shared with the girls from the Holy Spirit Registration department?”

“How could I forget! You were the star of the show, literally! Somewhere, they found a round false nose on some sort of long rubber band which you wore over your nose. Someone wrote up the lyrics to `Betty, the Red-Nosed Reg Clerk’ and printed out copies. The girls sang the song while you stood there and just beamed.”

* * * *

This might seem a tad controversial, but I’m going to say it anyway. Betty was on a serious spiritual quest all the time I knew her. Betty Britton was unquestionably psychic. I know full well she could talk with the dead.

I’ll provide just one example. Back when we lived on Linglestown Road, I got involved with a TV producer named Paul Guffan who was working on a prospective TV series called Secret Heroes. As a “spy master,” I was brought in to look over scripts, provide scripts, help provide publicity into the spy fan community, the like.

We worked on this for perhaps a year when we learned Paul had contracted cancer. Both Betty and I talked with Paul several times promising we wouldn’t jump ship and would help him see the project cross the finish line.

Then there were no more phone calls, no more e-mails from Paul. I tracked down a director friend of Paul’s who told me Paul was dead.

That evening, Betty looked over to me from her computer and told me Paul had a message for me. “he’s pissed. To get so close and then everything goes pop, like that. He’s pissed. “ She paused and added, “He says to mention the fugitive slaves and the Southern spies.”

I jolted. She was referring to a script idea I had which I had told Paul about. No one else. That was his way of letting me know the contact was real.

* * * *

For many years, Betty’s spirit guide was the goddess Persephone. They had many intimate conversations I wasn’t privy to. I do know she kept telling me I needed to be more open as I could do what she did. For example, she once told me one spirit guide was present when I was picking out her wedding ring. “He says,” Betty told me, “that you’re a very stubborn man. He held out the ring for you three times before you took it.”

Another jolt. Betty wasn’t at the jewelers when I picked out her ring, but the salesman indeed offered one ring three times while I wanted to explore all the options.

Betty and others in her family sometimes called on a local psychic named Rhonda. I think Betty lost confidence even if Rhonda was hit-or-miss correct on some things.

* * * * *

I don’t know what kick-started her renewed interest in Christianity, but in her final years, Betty got very interested in the Bible and prayer. She wanted to find a church home.

One day, we were sitting on our patio when a couple was looking for Marianne next door. Betty struck up a conversation with them and learned they went to the same church as Marianne.

They came over and visited awhile and shared what seemed to me to be some unorthodox interpretations of scripture. But Betty seemed to think the visit was special and proclaimed she thought she had found her church. Well, not quite. Beyond one phone call, we never heard from that couple again.

For a few months last summer and fall, I called around all the local churches in the area to see if we could find a pastor and church for Betty. Any that were too ritualistic, like the Lutherans, Betty ruled out. Any that didn’t emphasize the Bible, like the Unitarians, she ruled out.

What astonished me then and amazes me now is how virtually every pastor in the area would visit Betty once, phone call her once, and then disappear. Not especially evangelical or reaching out. A lot of folks have offered one excuse or another for this lack of interest but I don’t buy into any of it. How can you grow a church if you’re not willing to spend time with a possible new member eagerly looking for a church home?

The only pastor to show an ongoing interest in Betty was Barry Stall of the Church of God. He visited her comparatively frequently wherever she was. He still keeps in touch with me—just spoke with him a few moments ago. That’s why he conducted Betty’s funeral service—he had been the only one to be there as the decline really kicked in. He realized she wanted to hear and say prayers. Betty was very big on prayer this past year.

I’ll finish this overlong memory with one event that happened in Spring Creek during Betty’s next to final stay there. Her 97-year-old roommate had a pastor stop by who had a guitar and sang prayers for her. At one point, I asked if he could come over and sing a prayer for Betty.

He did so. I thought that moment of sharing kind of summarized Betty’s spiritual journey which really revolved around the Bible, prayer, and music.

* * * *

“Damn Betty, I keep finding new surprises from you! Ron and Bert just came over to set up my new little garden and we found all your garden decorations on the porch walls! Cows, of course, angels . . . I wonder why they didn’t ever blow over in all our heavy wind gusts!

“They will become yard decorations again this weekend when we plant two rose bushes in your memory. If all works out, one will be red, one will be yellow, and we’ll put up a plaque in your name on the wall by the laundry room.

“Damn it Betty, I miss you. I really miss you today. I’ll really miss you tonight.”