Last Friday evening, I discovered the worst news a friend could possibly learn. My best friend died in a house fire last October 12th in Bakersfield, California. Before I give the details, I would like to explain who she was.
I met Darcus through a mutual friend back when I was twenty-two years old. Our mutual friend put us in touch, because I was struggling to support myself with a minimum wage job (back when minimum wage was FAR lower than it is today). Darcus graciously took me in, sight unseen. We hit it off immediately, and soon we were palling around like we had been best friends in high school. Soon after I moved in, I found a good job and was able to move into my own apartment in a few months.
We were friends through my marriage, my subsequent divorce; we were friends through all of the young adult traumas I encountered (she was seven years older than I was), she was by my side through two surgeries, I was by her side through several of her hospitalizations. We acted silly together; we went grocery shopping in the middle of the night together so we could take our time and goof off. We played, laughed, and cried together. She was there through my ex-husband's heart attack; she was by my side through my grandmother's death. She delivered several of our friend's children. She was active in her church, and extremely dedicated to her faith.
But mostly she was a devoted wife and mother who home-schooled her children and raised them to be responsible, caring adults.
Until her husband betrayed her in the most horrific, unimaginable way. I am not at liberty to describe the details, but that night was the beginning of the end of my best friend. For the next twenty years she did everything possible to deal with her pain, engaging in behaviors you would think no one her age would get involved in; such was the depth of her pain.
It all ended last October 12th in a house fire where she died all alone. According to the coroner's report, she died of smoke inhalation combined with methamphetamine intoxication and cardiopulmonary disease. She was sixty-five years old. Those people in Bakersfield who did not know her in Salinas, California would never have guessed the person she was back then, but many of us know. We had all hoped she would eventually pull out of the lurch she was in, but none of us are in a position to know what we would have done nor how we would have reacted to the shock she experienced that fateful night.
The only thing I know for sure is, every single thing that happened to her after that night falls squarely on the shoulders of her former (scumbag) husband, Charles Greco, son of Art Greco of Greco Construction on River Road in Salinas. My only hope now is that he will suffer for all eternity for what he turned her into through his evil behaviors. No amount of pain he could ever endure could ever compare to the destruction he caused. May he receive the justice he so richly deserves, and may he never receive mercy for what he has done.
And may Darcus Ann Greco rest in the peace she has sought for the past twenty years.
"G-d, full of mercy, Who dwells above, give rest on the wings of the Divine Presence, amongst the holy, pure and glorious who shine like the sky, to the soul of Darcus Ann Greco, daughter of James A. Holloman, for whom prayer was offered in the memory of her soul. Therefore, the Merciful One will protect her soul forever, and will merge her soul with eternal life. The Everlasting is her heritage, and she shall rest peacefully at her lying place, and let us say: Amein."
