Sing For Me, Nightingale

I haven't had enough experience with loosing people to know how to handle it well.

When I was little, three or four, my great grandmother and great aunt passed away. I remember standing at the foot of my ailing grandmother's bed. I can remember a very clear image of my great aunt, all the way down to her large pearl clip on earrings and avocado hued overcoat. I remember at one of their funerals, someone played guitar. I don't remember the loss.

In my lifetime, there are losses that have affected me. I cried when my landlord's wife passed away. (If you have read my past posts, I knew him long before he was my landlord, he was my piano teacher's father first.) I may not have known her well, but I knew I would always miss her kindness. My best friend's neighbors were mowed down by a drunk driver, and that wasn't the only injustice of the situation. Two moms, three kids. It took them over five hours to give the drunk driver a breathalyzer. Only one cop was responsible for securing the scene after the crash. The father of two of the kids, little boys, arrived. His son was still alive and crying for his mom and dad. The cop wouldn't let the father go to him, so instead the little boy died alone in a ditch. Only one of the mom's survived, but after losing her two sons, her best friend and her best friend's daughter, she wished she hadn't. I mourned them all, but again it wasn't my loss.

The first celebrity death to get to me was Lucy. I remember it as if it were yesterday, a picture of her coming up on the television screen, that fiery hair against a pink background with two dates: 1911-1989. The celebrity death to hit me the hardest was John Ritter. I essentially grew up with this man and all of a sudden he was gone. I heard about it while in the car driving down the road, as a hint of how shocked I was to hear those words over the radio, I ran a red light. He died on the anniversary of our nation's biggest attack, he died on his daughter's birthday. I miss him.

Like everyone who has had pets, part of having them is eventually they pass away, so of course I know this sadness. The death that has actually hit me hardest was my first cat. I've mentioned him here, I want to get a tattoo of him. A couple days after we moved into our building, we heard a thud from the next room. I got up to see what it was, and it was my cat. He had fallen over and it basically seemed like his back half wasn't working. We rushed him to the vet and they felt a large mass next to his kidney. He was anemic and would have needed a couple transfusions before even being stable enough for surgery, if he made it that far. I couldn't put him through that, I couldn't put me through that. (Even now I get all teary thinking about it.) I had to make the decision to put him to sleep. I couldn't be there when they did it, I know some people get peace out of that, but I didn't want to remember him that way. He was purring in my arms when they took him. (Okay, I need a minute now.)

I am not saying all this to be morbid, I guess I'm saying it to be prepared. Not only is my grandma getting older and my landlord fighting inoperable cancer, my old boss is sick, again.

The hubby and I used to work at a little restaurant, a drive-in that wasn't a drive-in anymore. He started working there when he was fifteen and three years later got me the job when I needed it. Our boss, wasn't exactly the best boss, but she is a damn good friend. She mothered her employees, not really a surprise when you find out she didn't have any kids. Instead she has cats, fifteen was the last count I think, and that's not including all the strays that she drives around town taking care of. A couple years back, when I was still working for her, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. This lovely god faring woman took it in stride, ready to shave her head because of chemotherapy. She didn't end up having to go through chemo, but she cut off all her thick graying locks simply because she had gotten so used to the idea. As her cancer was going into remission, she was hit with another blow.

The treatment from the breast cancer, had given her cervical cancer. Admirably she fought it, fully believing that god had a plan for her and if it was time, then it was time. Singing and church kept her positive. I knew she had a good voice, I knew she had performed, even outside the church, so it was amazing when one day in the middle of the dining room she broke out singing Mele Kalikimaka, a Hawaiian Christmas song. (She was born in Hawaii, to her, it will always be home.)

After fighting and beating cancer twice, she was still the same beautiful woman we always knew and loved. A couple weeks back, she drove by (actually tending to the stray cats next door) and we were able to play catch-up. With a dignity that shouldn't have surprised me, she informed the hubby and I that she was diagnosed with lung cancer. This woman who has never smoked a day in her life is now battling again. I don't think she can sing anymore, her cough makes me sad. She's handling it with the same class and grace that she's handled everything else. Again, or still, she fully believes the good lord has it all worked out for her. I envy that. She is one of the strongest women I know.

I don't want to lose her, I don't want to lose anyone. I get that death is a part of life. Mortality isn't really something I find myself thinking about, and really, that's probably a good thing. I don't really think that's what I am talking about here though, I'm talking about loss. The selfish part of loss. What do I handle it? I get that you move on, one day at a time, it gets easier. But where you file it away in your head so it makes sense? Is there ever a time where it doesn't feel wrong?

Bleak probably, I know, but that's what was on my mind this morning. Now, off to spend some life affirming time with the hubby before he heads off to work. Thanks for listening!

(P.S. I had to write this post twice thanks to Blogger deleting the first one. First time it does it to me and it had to be this post, damn Blogger!)