'Til There Was You
I won't write your name. You would hate that. You would say that the last thing you wanted was some stupid people who should have better things to do, looking up your name.
I will say this. You made group fun. And seriously? We do not spend nearly enough time laughing in cancer support groups. We spend a great deal of time patting and smiling and well....supporting. We learn about products and practices that work and those that don't. We learn that, in general, we are all pretty much the same. A group of people who really don't want to die.
You sat two people down from me and sometimes we chatted after group was over. I wish that we had chatted more now. The thing is that while I loved group, I hated it, too. I know that if anyone would understand that, you would. Once, you looked around at all of us and said, "I never, ever thought I'd be around so many bible thumpers in one room, willingly." That made me laugh. And I did laugh, even though I am pretty sure I was the only one. I laughed because you often said what I was thinking.
When I mentioned how crushed I was that someone whom I loved had betrayed me, you gave me a look and said, "Honey, get over it. Gauge it. If they apologize quickly, they are worth keeping. If not, let karma pinch their nipples." I was a little mad when you said that, but in the car on the way home, okay....I started giggling.
When I admitted (along with just about everyone else in the room) that I used lotion with CBD in it (illegal in our backwoods state) to help with severe bone pain, you cackled at our timidity at not following rules. You suggested that we all try getting stoned a few nights a week to help our dispositions.
I will tell you right now that I have taken your advice and it has. I don't really get stoned THAT much, but it does help just to soften the blows that cancer strikes me sometimes.
The last time we talked was after the meeting when someone brought brownies and you bawdily asked if they were weed brownies and the woman who brought them was so fucking offended. She haughtily told you that her granddaughter had baked those brownies and her granddaughter was not a reefer addict. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks not to snicker at that because....c'mon....EVERYBODY'S granddaughter smokes weed these days. The funny thing? This was the same woman who spoke about her granddaughter coming home drunk on the weekends sometimes. I guess it was okay with her that her granddaughter fuck up her liver, while smoking weed has no such side effects. But, anyway....I'll be kind to that woman because she is suffering from colon cancer and her faith that Jesus will save her is something beautiful to see. Anyone who has that level of faith has to be admired, I think.
But, we were eating those non weed brownies and talking about books and you presented me with a list of three books that you thought I should read. I had read two of them already, but I will read the other one. For you. You asked me what my favorite book was and I said that I would have to think about it and would have it for you at the next meeting. The last thing you said to me was, "You can't pick To Kill a Mockingbird. Everybody chickens out with that one. Dazzle me with something different, because I know you can."
And then, you weren't at the next meeting and the leader told us that you had died in your sleep, peacefully. I was glad for you. I was. I remember how you talked about not wanting to die with shit in your pants in some nursing home. You talked about outliving your beloved husband. Jerry. The man with the plan. The man who taught you how to love life and let go and have some fun. You even outlived your son. Peter Pan. The boy who refused to grow up. The one who you worried that you had ruined because he never seemed motivated to get out there and get a degree and get a decent job. The one who married the wrong girl and you tried to tell him but who listens when they are in love and more to the point....who listens to their MOTHER about love?
I remember that you had me laughing when you talked about how you sincerely wished that your Peter Pan son had produced some offspring so that you would have someone to come to your memorial but instead....maybe his ex wife and all those stupid dogs of theirs would show up.
I think you should know that I am considering driving the three hours to your memorial. You drove three hours to our meetings. And I want to be there.
The woman in the seat two chairs down from you will miss you.
YOU WERE HERE.
Safe travels, you. You didn't believe in heaven, but I think you might be surprised. I hope that you and Jerry find some good weed and a tent that doesn't leak. I hope that your hair grows back to its original jet black gypsy curls and that you can once again eat that spicy chili that you missed so much.
By the way, my favorite book is Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. I think you would like the heroine. She is plucky and full of beans.
See you soon, friend.
I will say this. You made group fun. And seriously? We do not spend nearly enough time laughing in cancer support groups. We spend a great deal of time patting and smiling and well....supporting. We learn about products and practices that work and those that don't. We learn that, in general, we are all pretty much the same. A group of people who really don't want to die.
You sat two people down from me and sometimes we chatted after group was over. I wish that we had chatted more now. The thing is that while I loved group, I hated it, too. I know that if anyone would understand that, you would. Once, you looked around at all of us and said, "I never, ever thought I'd be around so many bible thumpers in one room, willingly." That made me laugh. And I did laugh, even though I am pretty sure I was the only one. I laughed because you often said what I was thinking.
When I mentioned how crushed I was that someone whom I loved had betrayed me, you gave me a look and said, "Honey, get over it. Gauge it. If they apologize quickly, they are worth keeping. If not, let karma pinch their nipples." I was a little mad when you said that, but in the car on the way home, okay....I started giggling.
When I admitted (along with just about everyone else in the room) that I used lotion with CBD in it (illegal in our backwoods state) to help with severe bone pain, you cackled at our timidity at not following rules. You suggested that we all try getting stoned a few nights a week to help our dispositions.
I will tell you right now that I have taken your advice and it has. I don't really get stoned THAT much, but it does help just to soften the blows that cancer strikes me sometimes.
The last time we talked was after the meeting when someone brought brownies and you bawdily asked if they were weed brownies and the woman who brought them was so fucking offended. She haughtily told you that her granddaughter had baked those brownies and her granddaughter was not a reefer addict. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks not to snicker at that because....c'mon....EVERYBODY'S granddaughter smokes weed these days. The funny thing? This was the same woman who spoke about her granddaughter coming home drunk on the weekends sometimes. I guess it was okay with her that her granddaughter fuck up her liver, while smoking weed has no such side effects. But, anyway....I'll be kind to that woman because she is suffering from colon cancer and her faith that Jesus will save her is something beautiful to see. Anyone who has that level of faith has to be admired, I think.
But, we were eating those non weed brownies and talking about books and you presented me with a list of three books that you thought I should read. I had read two of them already, but I will read the other one. For you. You asked me what my favorite book was and I said that I would have to think about it and would have it for you at the next meeting. The last thing you said to me was, "You can't pick To Kill a Mockingbird. Everybody chickens out with that one. Dazzle me with something different, because I know you can."
And then, you weren't at the next meeting and the leader told us that you had died in your sleep, peacefully. I was glad for you. I was. I remember how you talked about not wanting to die with shit in your pants in some nursing home. You talked about outliving your beloved husband. Jerry. The man with the plan. The man who taught you how to love life and let go and have some fun. You even outlived your son. Peter Pan. The boy who refused to grow up. The one who you worried that you had ruined because he never seemed motivated to get out there and get a degree and get a decent job. The one who married the wrong girl and you tried to tell him but who listens when they are in love and more to the point....who listens to their MOTHER about love?
I remember that you had me laughing when you talked about how you sincerely wished that your Peter Pan son had produced some offspring so that you would have someone to come to your memorial but instead....maybe his ex wife and all those stupid dogs of theirs would show up.
I think you should know that I am considering driving the three hours to your memorial. You drove three hours to our meetings. And I want to be there.
The woman in the seat two chairs down from you will miss you.
YOU WERE HERE.
Safe travels, you. You didn't believe in heaven, but I think you might be surprised. I hope that you and Jerry find some good weed and a tent that doesn't leak. I hope that your hair grows back to its original jet black gypsy curls and that you can once again eat that spicy chili that you missed so much.
By the way, my favorite book is Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. I think you would like the heroine. She is plucky and full of beans.
See you soon, friend.
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