On learning how to live with death

By Cathy Scott

30-Mar-1997 Sunday

Davy Vasconcellos Heddy

I hung up the phone and stared at my computer keyboard. It's not the kind
of news anyone is ever prepared to hear: Davy Vasconcellos Heddy, an old
classmate from Helix High School, had died.
   I had called a mutual friend from school. "I'm not doing so well," Linda
Ballantyne said. "You know, Davy died."
   No, I didn't know. I moved to Las Vegas three years ago. I had visited with
Linda and a few other classmates when they came through town a while back.
We try to keep in touch, but end up talking just a few times a year now.
   It's odd the way time flies, gets away from you. The news of her death hit
me hard. The last time I saw Davy, I ran into her at the beach. As always,
Davy was chipper. She was the type of person who made others feel special.
That's because she was special.
   Davy had died on Jan. 5, and here it was March already. I was sorry I
missed her funeral. Linda said it was standing room only. I wasn't
surprised.
   I went home from work and pulled out my Helix High School yearbook, class
of 1967. There was Davy, bigger than life, with that beautiful smile of
hers.
   That's what I remember the most. Davy was always happy, always up. She
remarried a few years ago and settled down with her two daughters and her
new husband's son. She spent the rest of her life with them.
   Also pictured in the yearbook photos, not far from Davy, were Linda, Candy,
Sheryl, Marty, Robbie and Roger. Years later, members of the "group" are
all still close friends.
   Over the years, either my twin sister Cordelia Mendoza or I would get a
phone call, usually from Linda, inviting us to a "Big Chill" dinner --
so-called after the feature film of the same name about old college
friends. Or a classmate living out of town would be visiting and someone
would throw a "Big Chill" party. At least 25 classmates would show up for a
party on short notice.
   One of those parties was at Davy's house a few years ago, in La Mesa, our
old stomping grounds. Davy seemed so happy. She had met the man she wanted
to spend the rest of her life with. A few years after graduating, I had
moved away from La Mesa to the beach, and when Davy and her family stayed
in South Mission Beach for a week each summer, we'd get together for
dinner, or I'd run into her on the boardwalk, taking a walk with her
family.
   When we think back about those we grew up with, we expect them to always be
there, even if we don't see them very often. Especially someone as full of
life as Davy.
   Linda can barely talk about her lifelong friend now. She still can't talk
to Davy's husband, Frank. It hurts too much. I'm sure he understands; Davy
and Linda had been best friends early in school. Davy was a good friend to
Linda and to everyone else. She truly cared about people, and she was
kindhearted. It's hard to lose a good friend.
   Right after high school, I remember seeing Davy occasionally. After
attending Grossmont Community College, we both ended up working for Pacific
Bell. I moved on to a career in journalism, and she moved on to the San
Diego Unified School District.
   Three months ago, Davy got up from bed, then suddenly collapsed. She had an
aneurism and was in a coma. She never recovered. With her family at her
bedside were a few of our old classmates, members of "the group." It was
fitting that her childhood friends would be there to say goodbye.
   Right before she died, Davy had been helping with plans for Helix's 30th
class reunion in August. It won't be the same without her.

SCOTT, a former San Diegan, is a reporter for the Las Vegas