We Will Remember...

She died. My friend, Katy, she died this week. She was the friend with all of the different cancers. She was the friend who survived for an amazing 15 months after being diagnosed. She was the friend whose daughter is one of Natalie's best friends. She is the friend who I loved.

The memorial service is today at 4:00pm. Natalie and I are going. We have to get there early because I have a feeling the church will be overflowing with people also wanting to say goodbye to their beloved Katy. The memorial service is today...and it's raining.

Last night Natalie and I started talking about the things we will remember about our dear friend, Katy.

So far this is what we have come up with...I am sure in the next few weeks, days, months and even years....we will continue to remember more about our friend, Katy.

We will remember…Katy
By Rose & Natalie

Natalie will remember Katy at the Gator Park last summer eating a hamburger. It was a terrible looking, grayish burger sealed in a plastic bag, fresh out of the microwave. Katy tried to make it taste (look?) better with a little catsup and mustard, but alas, she ended up unceremoniously spitting it out in the trash…after, of course a polite “Excuse me”.

I will remember that Katy made special spinach quiches… just for Natalie.

I will remember once when Katy was over…she asked me what I was doing. When I told her I was making gravy, she look surprised and said she had never made it from scratch. We laughed because as it turned out, I was more of a Southern Belle then she was…

Natalie will remember Katy getting up at midnight to get the girls (at one of the numerous sleepovers) some rocky road ice cream, because apparently, a sleepy Auntie said ‘No, its late girls go back to bed…’

I will remember Katy getting so excited over Kim’s plant and barbecue sale at her school. I am sure it had some official name, but I don't know what it is; all I know is that Katy loved that event.


I will remember Katy for being the light. Some people have the light. Most people are lucky enough to gravitate towards it. Katy, she was the light. And not only was SHE the light, but also guided people towards goodness and light for themselves. Most of the time without them even knowing it.

I will remember Katy and her family. Leon. Kimberly. Kim. Nancy. Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes. Sometimes the girls and I wanted to go over to there, just to bask in the warmth of the house. I remember Mrs. Rhodes at the bus stop on cold day, looking dazzling in a red topcoat.


I will remember Katy calling me on Saturday mornings asking ‘What’s Natalie doing today? Does she want to go to Jeepers with us?’ Well, duh. And of course, Natalie was usually ready by the time I hung up the phone. I wonder if Katy did that, knowing I really needed a break.

I remember one Valentine’s Day, I actually had a date (miracles DO happen)…I remember Katy watched the girls for me while I had dinner at Sal’s. But in the end, Katy turned out to be my real Valentine.

I remember one rainy and cold night, as I was picking up the girls from Katy’s house; Abbey (our Boston Terrier) locked me out of the car (while it was running). Katy was so worried about how I was going to get back in the car. But I assured her that our highly intelligent (and well trained) dog could unlock it for us, since she was the one that locked it in the first place. 5 minutes later, after many ‘Abbey, shake, Abbey shake, Abbey shake’ (thus making her paw go up and down on the lock), voila, Abbey unlocked the car! I will remember that all of us laughed for another 5 minutes in pouring rain.


I will remember Katy and her courage, strength and determination.

Natalie will remember Katy for taking her and Kimberly to see the movie “National Treasure”…first, the box office staff gave Katy a difficult time for using some sort of pass, next, a few minutes into the movie, Katy realized the movie was grossly inappropriate for the girls and FINALLY, she demanded her money (pass) back from the box office. Natalie and Kimberly thought the whole experience was hilarious in a 9 year old way…

I will remember Katy and the one time Natalie got on the wrong bus going to their house after school. Katy called me at work, terrified that I would angry. Angry? Never. And of course, we ended up laughing about it in the end.

I will remember Katy because she loved me for exactly who I am…wicked sarcastic streak and all.

I will remember one of the first times we took Kimberly out to dinner, and Katy tried to give me money for Kimberly’s dinner. I told her that with us (Katy-Rose), we shall never keep track of who pays for what, when and how. We were like family, no one keeps score. She agreed.

I will remember the time Katy and I promised each other we would never say “Are you sure?” Especially when it came to watching each other’s daughters.

Natalie will remember that Katy bought her the canopy that covers her bed and protects her as she sleeps.

I will remember sitting with Katy in her sun room, talking, talking, talking.

Natalie will remember in 2nd grade, coming home to Katy’s house every day after school. And to let off some stream? She and Kimberly would roll around on the kitchen floor and scream at the top of their lungs. They loved that crazy afternoon activity.

I will remember the day, a few months ago when Katy and I talked about how Kim and Nancy lived with them and how perhaps from the beginning is was all meant to be. I remember, she held my hand and smiled.

We will remember Katy and be grateful she was in our lives.

10 Cats

Sometimes I don't get men. Okay, not all men. Just two men. Sometimes I don't get just two men that are supposed to be my friends.

First case, my friend from Elizabeth City. 53 years old and afraid of a commitment? Oy vey. Tick tock, tick tock, dude. And don't get me wrong, I didn't ask him for a one. (Commitment, I mean. Not a clock.) But I just think playing hard to get at 53 years old (or at any age really) seems sort of...silly. The whole push-pull of it all. Eeeks. To me? It feels like he's chasing ghosts. Keeping the options open. Or worst? Playing games. Okay, I admit, I love a rousing game of Crazy 8's. But I think that I am getting way too old and way too cranky to play games...especially with a 53 year old man who doesn't know what he wants. Or doesn't want.

Second case, a best friend from Greenville, SC. We have known each other for about 3 years. He's the one I call if I need to cry and Ilene is in a meeting. He's a great guy. Sensitive, smart, handsome. Tall. And although our friendship blurred the lines a little; thankfully, we ended up back as friends. We have always managed to stay honest. We prided ourselves on always telling the truth about our lives; the politics, the family, the dating (of other people). Or so I thought. I found out recently that he never told me the whole truth about the woman he now lives with (no, he's not gay) and that he never told her the whole truth about me (which clearly violated a 'having a best friend of the opposite sex rule').

What is it about men? Is honesty voluntary or selective with them? Do they pick and choose which days they will tell the truth? Hmmm. Let's see...Mondays, Wednesdays and Friday look good for telling the truth. Are men somehow exempt from the whole 'honesty is the best policy' thing? Sheesh. Look dude(s), just tell the truth. Let the chips fall where they may. Stand up and say it even if it might hurt the hell out of someone. Just say it. Just do it. Don't be a coward. Don't be a wuss. Just tell the truth. And yes, we might cry. But even if we cry, it's okay. Crying isn't some hormonal thing. It's crying. It's an expression of an emotion. We don't use it to manipulate your grand masculinity. We don't use it as leverage. No, we are crying because we FEEL something. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. Something. Remember, we are crying because we feel something. We are not crying because we are weak, inferior or wrong.

So tell the truth already. Have some respect. Get it over with already. Rip the band aid off. And do the right thing.

Or not...because I guess it is Thursday.

At Least You Lost Some Weight

About a year ago, in a state of insanity, I broke down and told my parents about the Zen-like heartbreak I had so painfully experienced. There I was, finally taking off the mask; sitting in the very house that I grew up in, the tears streaming down my face, revealing a side of me my parents had never seen before. I told them of my courage to love again, the humiliation of standing on a porch and him not answering the door, and the fog that I had been living in for the past few months. At 42 years old, I had never been this honest with my parents; even after we all experienced the end of my 15 year marriage a few years earlier.


My father was kind and supportive, patting my arm with his own smooth, soft hand and whispering 'Rose, oh, Rose...' I could tell he felt genuinely sorry for me and my Zen-like heartbreak. After so many years of carrying the burden of silently fighting my parents, I thought this might finally be the end of that well traveled road.

And then I looked over at my mother. My mother. She had a familiar look on her face, it was one that I have seen many times in my 42 years, one that I know well. My mother? She looked bored. However, as our eyes met, she came alive, cleared her throat and imparted her words of wisdom upon me. And I was ready. Finally at 42 years old, I was ready to accept life exactly as it is and finally listen to my mother. And then? She uttered those 6 words that sum up my relationship with my mother.

She said, 'At least you lost some weight.'

'At least you lost some weight.'

Well, okay then. Thank you very much. You have been a lovely audience.

'At least you lost some weight.'

Talk about a reality check.

Look, I love my mother. I do. We all do. Through all of this, I know one thing for sure. I love my mother. She is married to my moody father and has been for the last 50 years. She is the mother to 4 grown, (fabulous, intelligent, talented) daughters. She is the grandmother (Lola) to 7 amazing, brilliant, beautiful grandchildren. She is a pillar in the community. She dresses like Alex Carrington on Dynasty. She isn't warm and fuzzy. She isn't going to bake cookies with my daughters. But she is, well, she's my mother.

Once when I was in high school, I complained to my mother about following in the footsteps of my Homecoming-Queen-Dating-The-Captain-Of-The-Football-Team-Beautiful-Big-Sister of mine. And I remember my mother said, 'Rose you can be smart or your can beautiful...Dad and I are glad you're smart.


Ouch.

But here's the thing. Maybe she's right. Oh, not about the smart AND beautiful thing. Because we ALL know that women can be both. If fact, most of the women I know are both. But maybe in the cold harsh light of reality, maybe she is right. Maybe, just maybe, it IS the lowest common denominator that really matters. Maybe it IS about the 'look at the bright side of things'. It certainly would simplify things, now wouldn't it? I mean, if the bright side of things, the loss of 20 lbs and 2 dress sizes is the one thing that remains from the heartbreak, well, doesn't that put it all in prospective? Ah, so it took some time to mentally get over it. Yeah, the tears. Yeah, the pain. Yeah, the healing. Blah, blah, blah. But maybe it's the truth that matters.

At least you lost some weight.

Maybe instead of searching the universe for the answer to why my heart got broken, maybe the answer is that there is no answer.

But when you look at it through my mother's bright side? At least you lost some weight. It sort of makes sense and hurts a hell of a lot less than the alternative.

Here's the thing. A few weeks ago I got really sick. Scary sick. Emergency oxygen treatment sick. Bed rest sick. Hundreds of dollars in medications sick. And believe me, it was a terrifying ride. I felt like I was in a dream, hearing myself take every breath. It's mind boggling to me how through those times (like my emergency gallbladder surgery in 2002, when I drove myself to the Emergency Room. Duh.), I remain strong. I figure it out. I proceed. I do. And I carry on.

But during the recovery time (for me about 3 1/2 days), I spent lots of time coughing, sleeping and thinking about my daughters. Thinking about my family. Thinking about my friends and Elizabeth City. Thinking about health insurance. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. And I found myself feeling down and out.

And now, it's all over. My healthy life has resumed back to normal. I can breath again. I can mother again. I can cook again. I can write again. I can think clearly again. And the scary ride is just a distant memory.

But I wonder in a case like this, if my mother's bright side is the right side? That through a painful complicated experience is usually the simplest of end results.

Because honestly? Through all of the sickness, the medications, the sleep and the scary ride, my mother was right, once again when she said last week...

'At least you lost some weight.'