Caterwauling

Took mom to see “To Joey, With Love” the other night. I dragged my feet going to this movie. But I’m so glad we went. 

It’s the love story of the country singers Joey + Rory. But it’s so much more than that. 

What was meant to be a focus of their homesteading and raising their baby daughter, turned into a beautiful chronicle of their little life as Joey was diagnosed with, and died from, cancer. 

It’s also the best advertisement of how a loving momma nurtures her child with Down syndrome. How all children have value. How Joey loved that smart, sweet baby. 

The joy in all their hearts, every day, struck me. They loved and trusted God every step of the way. Through the life He gave them … from the baby He wanted them to have … to the path He planned for them to take. 

They were lucky to be successful. They were smart to scrimp and save. They could afford their year off. And they could focus 100% on Joey’s treatments and, ultimately, her final months. 

Thy will be done, they sang. This was their journey. 

I thought about how I’d be dragging my IV and port to the office every day in the same situation. Assuming full employment till recovery or death. 

And the “thy will be done” hit me like a ton of bricks. Did God choose this life for me and does He think I’m ungrateful for all the rocks I have to roll up the hill?

I mean, do I aspire to more or do I finally trust Him to guide my next move … Even if it’s to stay in place?

I liked the idea that God chose the baby they were meant to have. That means He picked the family I was supposed to have. And the job. Maybe not the apartment, though …

Or like Rory, the family he was supposed to have for now. Not that he will love again. You can tell, he will never be the same. 

I guess trusting God sure beats trusting humans who have let you down before and who let you down again just 12 hours of leaving the theater. 

There’s a lot to be said for giving your problems up to God and letting them be His to solve. 

I think I lost my faith when a million prayers for mom’s health went unanswered. On the other hand, I still have her. So there’s that. 

I still don’t have anyone else to love or trust. Plenty to hold in downright contempt. And a few I like from my daily interactions to leave behind whom I will miss. 

But faith would tell me better days, things and people are coming. 

My prayer is sooner rather than later, and the strength to thrive in the meantime. 

Today was mom’s actual birthday. 59. With the health of a 103-year-old. 

She asked to join me to feed the ducks. Which I haven’t done in a few days. We have so many now. I buy seed in bulk but they’re starving. It’s never enough. She gets depressed about that, and I don’t want to deal. 

She must feel the same way when I mention certain names as I do when she talks about neighbors or ducks. 

She also wanted to come to the mailbox in our clubhouse. Naturally her friends are as useful as mine, as the usual suspects were absent as usual with their birthday cards. This after I fussed over her BFF just last week. 

Except …

There was a card from Uncle Tom. Sent Friday, pre-holiday weekend, so he could get it to her on her day. 

We sat at the pool and cried. He died Sunday as far as we know. Maybe sooner. 

And it was so hard for him to get to a mailbox at 86 with his health.  

But he did it. For her. 

If there’s a heaven, he’s in it. I thanked him for showing love to her when no one else did/has. 

She would murder me for taking this pic. She held onto his letter for an hour, unopened. It struck me when she said, there’s no one to send a thank-you to anymore. 

She thanked him for every note. She loved seeing his handwriting. And he came to worry if there was a delay in getting a note from her. Which was rare. Her etiquette is pretty impeccable. 

They were pen pals for 10 years. 

I don’t know if she’s opened that letter yet. I won’t ask. I’m just so happy she received it. 

Thank you, Uncle Tom. Love you bunches. Thank you for loving my momma so much. 

In case anyone thinks my frame of mind after losing Sia is any better, well. Enjoy that optimism of yours. So cute!

The Baltimore Sun did a very nice story on her. One of my boys sent it my way yesterday, along with a tribute one of her editors did in his newsletter. And I was gut-punched all over again.

This makes me understand the journalism scholarship thing. Again, not quite how I would have honored her. But I get it now.

Her name was all over the air yesterday, actually.

I found out that a mutual friend was with her when she passed. That’s quite comforting. Not only was she not alone, but that she was with such a good friend.

I thanked him for being there. I don’t know why; it sure isn’t my place to say. But she would have said it if she could. I’ve been kind of doing that, letting people know she loved them.

She was always so good about telling me how awesome she thought I was. You feel good when someone like her admires someone like you. I just want to share that as much as I can.

I sent our buddy my favorite photos of her. He appreciated it.

Funny how our worlds connected, even when it wasn’t us connecting.

That’s the thing these days, with the small field we are in and the wide world of social media. You don’t have to reach out and call (don’t ever call me — text me) anyone. You can simply ask someone else how they are doing … or go lurk on their walls and go away quietly with them never being the wiser.

I got up the courage to read some of our last conversations on Faceypages. My last words in my last message to her, sent earlier this summer, were “Love you more.”

I’m so glad that’s the last thing I said to her. I mean, I wish there were so many other things said. But as far as parting words go, I’m OK on our “love you, Goddess”/”love you more” as our final conversation.

“August, the summer’s last messenger of misery, is a hollow actor.” — Henry Rollins

Thanks to good ole Facebook Memories, I know that today is the day Leanne’s obituary came out. We would have her celebration of life at her favorite bar/club four days later.

Such a beautiful girl. She looks exactly like my friend Lindsey. Same spirit and big laugh too. No wonder Lindsey and I clicked. It makes sense now.

There will never be another Sia, though.

I think about her every day. Mostly kicking myself for keeping my distance at first. (I didn’t want her to catch the wrath of Shannika if they knew she was talking to me.) But she didn’t care. She wanted to be my friend. So we just didn’t publicize it when we did hang out.

There were some people we knew who were so mean to her. She had a way of outshining everyone without even trying. And to read their comments on her wall, you’d think she was their BFF.

I prefer how some others are handling it — with silence. We all know how you related to her in life. Grieve for the time you wasted.

You know, like I am.

It feels like my window closed for taking time off to heal. Summer is drawing to a close and still I’ve taken no time off. I have a list of things I want to “come back” and achieve. But I want that door open to a vacation … to not have to leave new projects unattended.

And if I don’t either take a vacation to get rested, or to dig deep into that God-I-hope-it’s-still-bottomless well for one more superhuman burst of strength … I’m not sure how to tackle all the things I want to do.

Mom decided we should postpone the Pittsburgh Pilgrimage to next year. Which is fine by me but I am also postponing moving until then too. So, big summer ahead. I just don’t know how much longer I can function till then. I needed that vacation NOW.

It has slipped out of my mouth far too many times that Sia was the lucky one, to finally be at rest. Not to say she is, but then that gets into all my existential fears that should remain unspoken.

Of course, my greatest fear is that there’s this big old world — and I’m not going to see enough of it. Her fear was that the world was too small and she’d see it all too soon.

I guess, in a way, she was right. She can see it all where she’s at now.

I need to get a new fear because I won’t be able to rest if I don’t set foot outside Braddock Beach again in this mortal coil.

And I need to do it soon, before another winter of discontent destroys what little motivation I have left in me.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” — John Steinbeck, “The Winter of Our Discontent”

Dearest S.,

I know you were with me all day today. So I don’t have to type it all out.

You know the impromptu meeting that almost kept me from meeting your friends tonight. You also know that I never worked as fast as I did to make sure I made it on time.

We didn’t do that while you were alive. I wish we had. Excuse ourselves from the unimportant to enjoy the company of like-minded people.

I enjoyed everyone I met tonight. But, you know. Those days of instant and complete friendship like we had? That ship has apparently sailed. But I do like your newer friends. I thank you for bringing us together.

It’s Alex’s birthday, which you know. I reached out to him last night and we’ve typed a few times since. I thanked him for welcoming me into your home and for all the dinners, bottles of wine and conversations we all shared. The day is bittersweet for him. I told him you’d want him to not miss the sweet. I hope he’s listening to me.

He called me Goddess on every reference, like you did. I love you guys so hard right now. Always did, but you are truly living on … please know that.

Your other friends and I head-scratched over the scholarship thing. I had to ask what they thought. They all had the same puzzled reaction. One said pretty much what I typed earlier. “Sia wanted to save the world. I am not sure I would have arrived at ‘journalism scholarship.'”

Another said you were probably cringing at the obituary writing. We all agreed you would have edited it heavily. And we also agreed — they picked the most-beautiful picture possible to accompany it.

You know the rest. You know how I cried when C. told us about coming to your house for dinner. I told how your mom taught you and your sister to cook. How she called you both “Child.” C. told us how he got his apartment (um, you. Of course.) and I told how I gave you the name of that place. They asked how I knew you and I told all our stories from Rockville and beyond. At some point they also realized I hired Teresa too.

I’m pretty sure I earned rock-star status, for bringing you both into our world.

You guys are the rock stars. I am just really, really good at hiring. 🙂

Funny how we don’t often get to do what we excel at.

They told me what happened with your promotion. Utter and complete bullshit. No wonder you didn’t tell me.

Well, you know the rest. I will leave it at that.

The nice thing about this gathering is that everyone loved you. I know of one, or probably two because you just know that’s how it goes, who were so mean to you who are coming to the next event. I’m waffling between wanting to share your story and wanting to keep you all to myself in mixed company.

I know I’ll make the right decision when it comes time.

In any event, the wine is wearing off and there’s a surprise little project in my inbox. Again, something you’d understand and appreciate.

I’m beginning to realize you were the only one who could. Or did.

Love you,
Goddess

Dear S.,

You’ve been gone a week today. I finally slept for the first night. Not for lack of being exhausted. But, you know. The neighbor finally needed to rest his evil head. 

That’s what’s in my head today. The absolute pieces of shit who live on while people like you die too young. Like the entire population of Braddock Beach save for mom, me and my new friend T. 

I think about how we both liked the same people and shared a violent distrust of certain others. It sucks losing you because you were one of the greats. The kind of people you have to import to Florida. One of the ones who leaves (I’m just referring to your return to Baltimore, just like Lady L did before you and T will soon do) because it’s just too weird here. And expensive. But mostly weird. And lacking in opportunity. 

Funny how most people aspire to move to a big city. We lived in big cities. Many of them. And we gravitated here. But the good ones don’t seem to stay. 

Speaking of, this summer it’s five years since Chip died. Managing editors are a near-extinct species. I need a job or at least a title change. Did I mention how impressed I was when you stood up and got the title and pay you deserved? My heroine. Honestly. 

Chip was another one who was fine and working one moment and was suddenly gone the next. 

I don’t think anyone outside our roles understands how much weight we carry. Including on our minds and hearts. If you think enough, the doing looks easier than it really is. 

Say hi to Chip when you see him. Share a cigar and laugh at my yam fits. 

In the friend circle, we are stunned that you had a “cardiac event” at age 31. Like maybe it was something else. 

But the pain in my heart when I think of you hurting … And, now that you’ve seen my real life from your new view, all the other things that destroy me from within and cause mounting anxiety … Makes your heart attack make sense. 

The difference is that you still went out and lived when you could. Not me. I live with the most anxious person on the planet and you know the rest. 

I think it’s time to do a will. I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. 

Maybe you know this where you are now — I was going to will my boxes of writings and my social media accounts to you. 

Can’t imagine there’s anyone else who would have had a modicum of interest in that stuff. Now I have no clue what to do with it all. I guess when there’s no one left to pay for my storage units, my life will all go in the trash literally as well as existentially. Maybe that’s not a terrible outcome.

Wish I had something of yours. I was thinking how I loved two of your necklaces. Christina and your mom should have those. Then I thought — ha — I should get your wine opener. 

Then I remembered, I gave you mine when you moved in with Diana. So I guess it’s only fitting that it keeps on traveling. 

Well sister, speaking of traveling, I imagine you’d rather be watching the Olympics than listening to me. Fly back to Rio safely. I know you are looking most forward to the soccer. Enjoy every last second of it!

Miss you, love. 

Goddess

Dearest S.,

I learned a new word today. Usually it would be you to teach me these things. And maybe you already know this Swedish saying. But lagom is something we never found.

Loosely (and I mean very loosely) translated, it means balance. Of having “just enough but not too much” of something.

Like, having just enough wine to dull the ache of another 16-hour workday. But not so much that we don’t appreciate all the flavors that went into that glass of joy. Or traveling just enough to satiate that wanderlust, but not so much that we miss home too much. To put it in our terms.

I think of how you lost your life as you were literally standing in line to board a plane back home from a foreign city you’d never visited before.

If what they tell me is true (and it’s amazing what we tell ourselves when we are grieving), you were gone pretty quickly.

If there was a way that you (or anyone, really) was “meant” to go — honey, you did it. You never wanted to go home. You enjoyed that last trip up to the last-possible second that it lasted. Everyone should go out that way.

Lagom, as I read it, referred back to the Vikings passing their booze around the campfire. They each took a draught — just enough — and left plenty for their pals.

Yes, socialist shit. lol. I swear I just heard you say that.

Now, I’m not saying that happiness is limited in this world. (Although it feels like there really isn’t enough to go around.)

But I think you took your share of happiness and pain. You had enough of both.

I wonder whether it’s the imbalance that keeps the rest of us alive. Until enough really is enough.

Speaking of enough, perhaps I have kept you here long enough with my letters to you. I do plan to type to you privately, about things I so desperately wish I could get your opinion on.

Or maybe I won’t. Maybe you had enough of all this and anything more would be too much.

That doesn’t mean I will forget you. It just means that Paris and Athens are high atop my must-do list now. I need to see the things firsthand that shaped you. You’ll still be my guide, I know it.

And, as always, I am only too happy to follow you wherever you want to take me next.

Love you bunches,
Goddess

Dear S.,

Your old boss (the good one. Well, I was pretty OK too, but you know who I mean) has written many a scathing memo about people who start off their stories with song lyrics.

Don’t tell bad stories, he writes. Tell interesting ones. Nobody knows your music, either. Get over yourself.

I will politely refrain from listing all the songs I’ve been listening to. (Although, “Seasons in the Sun.” You gotta admit the line about “too much wine and too much song” was totally us, right?)

I do have another musical interlude, though. This time, it was “your” song — or, at least, one of the ones I associate with you.

I got into the car late today. Turned on The Gater, as one does when one cannot stand another political discussion on NPR. And there was “Simple Man,” in its entirety. (My little Skynyrd fan …)

You and one of our editors bonded over that song. I bet he’s somewhere hearing it too and thinking of you. (Update: I had to go and crush his soul and be the one to tell him about you. He’s so sad now, too.)

Today is a better day for me, I guess, overall. I haven’t taken off my sunglasses since Sunday. My hair hasn’t seen the outside of a slew of colorful headwraps ever since, either. I keep forgetting to reply to people but you know what? When I do, they are gracious and kind and happy to hear back eventually.

There is good in this world. We found a whole lot of it in our circle. I forgot about that.

Milton saw me sitting outside looking sad. You know him — the sweet guy who works on cars next door to our work building. He offered to buy me a cold drink. Love that guy. I almost told him about you. But I didn’t want to shatter another smile today.

I don’t remember much these days (how many times did I have to walk back to my car this morning for my laptop and purse?). But I remember the right things that (sigh of relief) really weren’t long-forgotten.

It’s not just that I miss you — I have missed you for a long time now. It’s just a whole lot more palpable when the possibilities run out.

Thank you for sending me your song.

Sending hugs to your heaven,
Goddess

Dearest S.,

I just saw that Gandhi quote and boy, guess who came to mind?

Our old friend called me last night. A few did, actually. But you know who I mean. She was lucky enough to see you just a week ago.

She is helping me to piece together the details of your last moments here. It still doesn’t make any sense to us. But, you know. I’d rather have envisioned you having a “burger garden” at the Brass Ring or a plate of pasta at Maggiano’s or TWO PLATTERS OF BRIE AND FRUIT (omg we really ate that in one sitting!) at DaDa.

Anyway. Everyone here is evaluating/reevaluating everything right now. Seems everyone is taking days off this week and month. And yet here I am with tears in my eyes, working through the pain.

It both hurts and comforts me that it’s probably the most-appropriate way to honor you.

And while I could bash this earth’s head in if it ever took human form for taking you (and taking you the way it did), it’s bringing the old gang back together. In a surreal, kind of fucked-up way. But, you know. Does anything ever happen in a way that’s NOT messy and ridiculous?

We’d laugh about it if you were here. You probably are pondering the irony wherever you are. Which, I imagine, is running your crepe shop on the Mediterranean and teaching Greek and French to grateful tourists. In the same loving way you taught our friend’s son to read.

You still amaze me, the more I learn about you.

I suspect that trend will only continue.

Love you,
Goddess

Dear S.,

You reached out to me about a job opening on Aug. 2, 2010. 

I was over the moon and fully intent on hiring you on the spot. No contest. None whatsoever. 

Thank you for coming back into my life when you did … 

Although who could resist this kind of job post, really? I knew we were going to be FAST friends right then. 

I know it ended in disaster for both of us. But it brought you to me and to all our friends who love and miss you very much. 

Hugs, 

Goddess