If there isn’t a God, then Saturday was full of coincidences that boiled down to one succinct message: Life should be lived striving hard to make a difference for others’ betterment.
Reporter Shaun Griswold’s call about Bea Meiers came shortly after I learned she had died. I really didn’t want to be quoted talking about someone who others knew better, so I gave him her friends’ numbers, but he put me on the record anyway.
I started writing this column to set the record straight. I cared about Bea because Bea cared mightily about issues dear to me — and because she was kind and freely shared her wisdom. But I didn’t know Bea well. She was quiet about her private life.
What I did know was that she worked tirelessly for those in need. Everyone in local politics held her in high regard. She always had a well-thought-out, zealous opinion on political matters, and she was awfully proud of her two grown boys.
All the speakers at her service seemed to echo what little I knew about Bea.
Her priest even joked about how she never had a political opinion. The congregation broke out in laughter. He also stressed that Bea continued to work to help others while on her death bed.
After the Mass, I headed late to the Recuerda a César Chávez event. I intercepted the marchers deep into Barelas and joined toward the front of the march next to an old friend I hadn’t seen in years.
Coralee Quintana was marching with her aunt Dolores, whom I’d met a few times.
While we marched, Coralee and I did some catching up.
She moved to Las Vegas where she continued to work with babies in need. This surprised me because last time we talked, she had finished her MBA and was getting ready to kick off a clothing line. I asked and she told me she still might do that, but advocating for children had to come first.
I became uncharacteristically pensive and quiet for the next block or so. Her beautiful octogenarian aunt marched between us.
Suddenly I blurted out, “I just came from a funeral of a friend who lived a life of community service. I can’t stop thinking that life has to be about making the world a better place.”
At which point, the diminutive civil rights leader who’d been quietly walking between us took my hand in her tiny velvety-soft hands and said simply, “Yes, that’s right.”
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At the end of the march, we celebrated César Chávez’s life. I made the rounds.
Some knew, but many asked ‘why the black suit?’ I told them about Bea Meiers, how she’d spent her life doing work for others and how I wish I had spent more time getting to know her.
My friend Terry Schleder, who I met while she advocated for better health services for others, didn’t know Bea even though I know they ran in some of the same circles.
I said I was surprised they’d never met. Terry then said something that others later echoed: For every César and Dolores, there are hundreds of unsung heroes who also spend their lives making others’ lives better.
I looked around and noticed the dozens of selfless community members who have and will continue to spend their lives working to make a difference — some well-known, and others not so much.
One caught my ear.
He called out my name, and at first, I didn’t recognize the half-paralyzed man in the motorized wheelchair. I had to ask his name. He told me and then told the story of suffering a debilitating heart attack while touring rural India last year.
He got back into the country late last fall. As with Coralee, I hadn’t seen Michael Morris in quite some time.
Most people wouldn’t recognize Michael’s name any more than they do Bea’s, Terry’s or Coralee’s, but he, too, has spent his life serving others.
At UNM, he headed the Community Services Learning Program. He’s also known for raising millions to serve impoverished rural communities and introducing young people to service in those communities.
He is physically debilitated and needs 24/7 care, but Michael still spent most of our time together selling me on his next community service project.
What I heard clearly from a priest, wise Latinas, civic leaders, Americore students and other community members is that what’s important is that you leave behind a world better than the one you were born into. Bea did that.
The rest of us would do well to emulate her. We’ll miss you Bea!
