I am sad to hear of Lorraine’s passing. Having lived out of state for the last 34 years and then moving back to Connecticut recently upon retiring, I just didn’t know. This is not to say I haven’t often thought of my friend from long ago because I have. Every now and then I would do an online search but always came up empty. It was just a few days ago when I met up with an old mutual school friend and she said she believed Lorraine had passed some time ago. Then a search online this morning confirmed this news with this obituary. The absence of other memories, stories or photos on the site makes me sad and confirms my worst fears that this lovely, smart, kind and funny friend may have ended up dying alone and lonely, most likely due to the demons she had battled for so many years. I’m so, so sorry, my sweet friend. I should have been there.

Even if no one ever sees this testimony online, I want to bear witness nonetheless to the person I knew Lorraine to be – the real Lorraine. We met when we were 12 - she sat behind me in our 7th grade homeroom – and from the very first we were compadres - best buddies, negotiating the challenges of adolescence together and pushing the boundaries of parental authority. Lorraine was as smart as anyone I knew; I was in awe of her.  She devoured long, fat books like they were candy and was a writer and artist with amazing creativity and imagination. We shared everything as only young teenage girls do. She loved her family. She and her sister Christine were just a year apart and they giggled and screamed like best friends, except when Chris would turn into “big sister” and we would dodge the boss!

College took me across the country and it was on one trip back for vacation that I first saw signs of trouble in Lorraine’s world – the questionable people she was surrounded with, a much older man/boyfriend who clearly didn’t treat her well, and substances that flowed freely. I learned that she had also suffered personal violence that had never been truly resolved. Her self-medicating was hard to see but was also understandable in these circumstances. She was miserable and it was painful to see her like that. I offered for her to come back to Colorado with me – I had a ticket she could use – but she wouldn’t or couldn’t do it.  It was three more years before we met up again.

In 1979 I returned to Connecticut when my father passed away and Lorraine and I re-connected and moved into  an apartment together for the next several months. We partied a little, went to the clubs a little, but overall it was the old Sue and “Rainey” again, just more grown up.  I was in grad school to become a teacher and Rainey worked different jobs. The only shadow during this time was how very thin and frail she seemed - food was clearly not her friend; and a boyfriend who had returned from Vietnam with a morphine addiction seemed to be sharing too liberally with her. I believe it was with him that Lorraine’s substance habit really took hold, but by that time I had moved, was caught up in my own world of boyfriends and a new job, and eventually moved to Massachusetts where I stayed for the next 20 years. 

The last time I saw Lorraine, although of course neither of us knew at the time it was to be our last meeting, took place at the Narcissus Plantings in Harwinton, CT. I was in Connecticut for a day-long conference nearby and used the occasion to connect with her. The Plantings are several acres of farmland and wooded glades bordering a large pond that are covered like a blanket with Narcissus flowers of yellow and white. It is a stunning sight to see for the first time – flowers extending almost as far as the eye can see – ‘magical’ is the only word – and I just knew Lorraine would love it. It was so… HER.  She did indeed love it and for a while it was like old times.  After walking and taking in the sights we sat for a while to catch up. It was then that Lorraine told me how discouraged she was feeling about ever being able to kick her drug habit for good. She had been on Methadone for years by that time and was unable to come off it. She was discouraged and depressed and even confessed that she didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this. My heart ached in my helplessness to do anything for her. All I could do was to express my love for the beautiful woman I knew her still to be. I pleaded for her to not give up on herself.

This was in spring of 1989.  Although I occasionally looked online for some sign of her after that, it wasn’t until sometime around 2016 that I found her on a people-search site and learned of her marriage and several different residences. Other information listed there suggested that life had been neither easy nor kind to her in the intervening years. No contact information was available.  It seemed my friend had gone beyond my reach.

I know addiction, up close and too personal. Both my parents died of alcoholism and the man I thought I would marry died in a drunk driving accident. I’ve had my own brush with the dark side, but because of friends I had in recovery and with the help of AA, I was able to pull back in time. I have neither had a drink nor had any drug stronger than coffee in 31 years.  Addiction is an equal opportunity destroyer: it cares nothing for how much money you make, what color or ethnicity you are, or how high up the social or professional ladder you have climbed. Addition is not a moral issue; it is neither strength nor weakness of character. It is Satan incarnate: pretending to be your friend, giving you confidence, acceptance and inner calm at the start, and then devouring you whole when your back is turned and your guard down. You never see it coming. No one plans on becoming an addict. It is not a decision.

Addicts hurt. Deeply. And hurt people, hurt people. They do abhorrent things under the sway and lash of their addiction. They destroy all that they treasure most in the world just to feed the monster inside them. Virtually no addict can get sober alone, and a large number cannot do it even with the help of loved ones. It is that awful – for them and for everyone who loves them. 

Don’t hate the addict. Instead, hate the monster, Addiction. Set boundaries as you need to prevent being collateral damage of the addiction; but if you find you can, hold a candle for the sick and suffering loved one trapped inside. Remember them as they once were. That’s who the Creator wanted them to be and the Creator loves them still. How can we do less?

I remember a beautiful, funny, smart, creative, kind and sensitive girl and woman. My friend, Rainey. Lorraine Marie Rotondo Wozniak. Rest in everlasting peace, dear friend. I love you. I miss you. <3