Some people leave indelible memories of time spent with them.
Patty Hickey was beautiful in high school, sexy and confident, so of course she should have been completely intimidating to the boys her own age, who adored her. And I was one of those boys. But she was funny, intelligent, and down to earth as well, and my awkward attempts at small talk eventually became conversations, teetering at the fringes of friendship.
We hung out a bit, mainly in the halls and foyers of Burnaby Central, ran into each other on some weekends, and I lined up with all the other boys hoping to get her on my dance card at grad! I had fun with her at the aftergrad parties, crossed paths a couple times over the summer, and came across her once in awhile in the library, pub and cafeterias of SFU, talking I’m sure about courses and studying and music and parties.
And then that was it. We didn’t ever say goodbye, or wish each other well, but one day I didn’t see her again. And thirty years went by.
And now I’ve just found out that Patricia Joan Delesalle died last week. Delesalle, nee Hickey.
And I discovered that she suffered a tragedy a year ago, a parent’s worst nightmare. Patty’s 16 year old daughter jumped out of a moving vehicle that Patty was driving, and died. Maybe they were arguing, maybe not, but I have a 16 year old daughter, and I would never get over a loss like that. I’m horrified to imagine how the event must have replayed itself over and over in her mind, the slow motion, the what-ifs, the inevitable ending.
I wish I’d known about this when it happened. Patty lived only 10 minutes away. I like to think that I would have called her, to let her know that I cared whether she was doing okay, that the impact she made on me decades ago resonated still. Maybe my reaching out would have been a futile gesture. She might not even have remembered me. That’s a risk I’d have taken, on the slim chance that she did. But I didn’t know, and I didn’t call. And I’m profoundly – unexpectedly – heartbroken.
It’s the finality of it. I didn’t know I should have called her, and now I can’t. And it’s crystal clear that Patty and others who were once the most important people in that crucible of my high school life are now in their fifties, and if Patty Hickey can somehow be dead – god, it’s impossible to say that – then so could any one of them.
And I’m not ready for this, the deaths of my schoolmates, or terrible tragedies that might strike them or their children. And I’m sad that I’ve let some of my friends slip away out of my life, that I’ve become unaware of what they’re doing, what their kids are doing, how their lives are going. I need to fix that.
And I’ll mourn Patty’s death. I’ll remember the small piece of her life that I shared a million years ago. I’ll hope her family and friends will be okay. And I’ll look up those other old friends, and Patty will have impacted my life yet again.
” To my sweet little David, you just made my school year. Your handsome face in the halls brightened up my days. Hope to see you at the SFU pub again.” Love, Patty
1978, BURNABY CENTRAL ANNUAL
davemcneilly 
HI Dave, I’ve never responded to a blog before, so hope this gets to you. It’s Ann, Patty’s sister. MC, a dear friend of Patty’s, told me about your blog this morning. She didn’t know her back then, but said how wonderful it was learn “just a little bit more about her”. I can’t tell you how touched I am to read this, and how comforted I am to be reminded how many people she impacted. She was an amazing sister, a wonderful friend, and the best Mother who loved her kids tremendously. I have a 14 and 16 year old daughter and know the challenges that go with that age (especially female). Poor Patty had had an argument with Murphy – only minutes from home – which resulted in this unthinkable accident. Something that would change her life forever. All of our lives. Patty worked hard to deal with the tragedy, knowing she would never get over it. Only adjust. And then this happens. Double pneumonia which turned into sepsis. I had lunch with her the day before she went into the hospital. She planted her garden the week before. We had tickets to go see Taylor Swift. To go to Europe with our kids next year…………so many plans. It’s so sad. Still unbelievable. Notes like yours are so comforting, and will print it to show my Mom. And to keep in the memory book I am working on for her kids. Thank you Dave.
PS. Where do you live? I’m in North Vancouver. I see Andy Rielly, Dave Feenie and Lonnie Almond (do you know her?) a fair bit. It would be great to see you as well. Take care.
Hi Ann. Well, I’ve never written a blog before, so it’s amazing that this found you. I was (and still am) crushed by the news of Patty’s death, as were Hill, Tanner, and McMaster. It struck me as exceptional that I could feel this way about someone whom I knew so long ago. The blog was really the end result of the process of trying to figure out why/how this could be.
I’d love to see all of you. I’ll email you with contact info. I work in North Vancouver.
very thoughtful Dave. i hope to see you at The Hill’s in August for Andy’s concert. Drop me an e mail if you have a second, i have something i want to send you as well.
Andy Rielly
Hey there Andy! Email on the way…
When Murphy died it was in the news. I didn’t know the family, I’m a random sympathizer. I mentioned this incident to my elderly mom (who passed away last year) but she couldn’t understand why I was concerned for someone (Patty) I didn’t know. I just thought that if I felt her pain, she would have less of it, even if she had never heard of me. My mom didn’t get that. To call this a parent’s worst nightmare has to be the understatement of the century. I checked in on this story a few months ago and discovered Patty herself had passed away too. Unbelievable. And for her husband, Murphy’s dad, and Murphy’s siblings. It really does boggle the mind. I was curious to know what caused Patty’s passing, and now I know. I wonder if psychosomatics played a large role. At any rate, it is all very sad. I lived in North Van for 10 years until 96 and felt a real connection to the North Shore, it was a good fit for me. I suppose this, too, had a lot to do with this story touching me the way it did.
Hello Dave,
Coady Delesalle here, Patty’s son. I just want to say thank you for this. I never expected to come across the depths of the internet and read something about my mom written by a high school friend. Your words were so kind and I would like you to know they have made a difference and I appreciate it. Given who she was, I am sure she would have remembered you and loved hearing your support. Either way, I have seen it and I know that would probably matter even more. I will circle back and read this often. Thank you.
Coady Delesalle
Hi Coady, that’s so great that you found this. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here myself. You take care, and maybe we’ll run across one another some day. Dave