IMG_4393

I had a friend
almost exactly ten years my senior
the sister I never had
a running buddy to laugh with
travel with while cleaning detritus.

Hours of laughing
the Aman and Stacey show
provided comedy and food
at a sculptors conference.
We eat, gather and hammer each year
The last time we were there in 2011
She fell ill and spiked a high fever that
chose not to break.

We drove home rather than getting
barred from our flight
Delirious, she would smile
looking out the window
She just wanted to go home

I know she worried about the cost
Offering to pay may have embarrassed her
My friend needed something she
wouldn’t give herself
I tried to give it to her
She meant more to me alive than not.

She refused the spinal tap and eventually recovered.

Two weeks ago, I received an email
she was in the hospital with
multiple organ failure
due to meningitis.

A medically induced coma
hopefully would allow her to heal
She woke from the coma
was in great pain
but remained on life support.

She was able to say goodbye
to her family then slipped away
when she was removed from life support.

She was a free spirit. Happy with anyone.
Helpful and willing to get her hands dirty.

Loved children. My boys remember her ability
to get them in and out of cars with the promise of food.
I remember her capacity for patience and compassion.
Her joy of life.

I will miss her being a part of my life.

The numbers of people who posted
their memories of her are numerous.
She was a part of so many lives.

Mother, friend, artist,
entrepreneur, sign painter,
assistant, caregiver,
Stacey of all trades.

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6 thoughts on “She died

    1. Thanks Sheldon! I’ve been thinking about the fun that we had. Laughing uncontrollably as the GPS tried to direct us to cross a bridge that was out on one of our road trips. Finally arriving three or four hours late, since neither of us had a very good sense of direction. I think both of us had a lot of male friends growing up. It was nice to find a lady friend who didn’t talk the standard: hair, nails, clothes, boyfriends rubbish. We talked about tools, machines, trucks and materials. She thought it was hysterical that the cat urn she was making in our metals class shouldn’t be quenched in water, in case she lost parts of her cats in the water, due to an imperfect seam. She really didn’t want to share her cat with the whole class since it was a general purpose quench barrel.

      She was familiar with the Flashdance syndrome. Women who weld with a face full of make up on, must be strippers at night and aspire to get into dance school. A woman scrapper was not a junkie scrapping for the next hit. We were thrifty and had fun picking up things on the side of the road. We understood that women in typically male fields took a lot of flack and got reputations for doing nothing other than being female at work. She was the welding shop monitor. I was the welding art teacher. She brought her son to work with her. It made sense, to me. I’m still in shock.

      I’ve hallucinated that because her son is in the armed forces, she needed to be put in the witness relocation program so that he could do secret espionage work without the danger of his mother getting kidnapped, the whole death thing was faked so that she could be in Colorado where she wanted to live anyway and work on her painting without the strings of having to make a living to keep the family home keeping her tied down.

      Yeah, a hallucination where she’s happy, singing and hanging out with her friends.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I have dealt with that kind of death
    Walking down the street
    And seeing the person
    When you deal with a creative
    Mind you see life differently
    What is Simple to some
    Becomes complex to you
    The love of a person
    Is not lost in death
    Death is the physical
    World,they are with
    You all the time you
    Have to let go of the
    Pain to feel them
    I hope all is well
    And you are not
    In too much physical
    Pain,As Sheldon Always

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The problem is my emotions are locked away. I have not cried. I’m stuck in practical mode. Find all her photos and post them online. Go through all my photo albums and find every photo graph and digital image of her. Attach my photo libraries and look through 40,000 images, no, no, no.

      Did I tell everyone I knew that knew her? Who did I forget? Why was I too cowardly to go to her celebration of life? I’m afraid of letting go and losing it in front of her relatives, “the normal people.” I’m not doing stressful things so I don’t have seizures in public.

      Life was easier when I was younger. I would just call a friend and have them go with me.

      Someone posted a video of her singing with a guitar player at a party. I can look at that again.

      Thanks Sheldon. I’ll get there. When I feel pain, that will be a step in the right direction. Now, I just feel loss. Her permanent absence. I can’t see her son or her sisters. I remember she used to say people called her a wingnut, because she was so scattered. She was my wingnut.

      Like

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