The past three days have been tough. Incredibly, incredibly tough. Losing someone you love is no easy thing. I believe it’s the hardest facet of life you’ll ever have to face. And as inevitable as breathing.
I met my girlfriend Allison when I was twelve. I had recently moved to Woodmere (New York) and so had she. I guess both feeling like outcasts solidified that bond of mutuality that doesn’t come along often. And the fact it lasted a lifetime, wow, was a gift.
No two people were more different when it came to things we did, people we dated, the clothing we wore. She was extremely smart school-wise. I was definitely not. She was on the conservative side. I believed the more outrageous, the better. She built a career. I didn’t. Like I said two very different people. And yet despite all that and the intermittent years where we drifted apart, the connection was as strong as ever. We remained each other’s greatest allies because that’s what friends are. The Wind Beneath My Wings people who truly love you and want only the best for you. They raise you up to a standard you might otherwise never dare to reach. They bring you soup when you’re sick, in times of despair, when your babies are born, when your parents die, and when your husbands leave. They are there. Always, always there like a relentless storm or a magnificent rainbow reminding you that life is sometimes fucked up, sometimes cruel, but it is also equally beautiful. Despite the grief that shows up on your doorstep when they’re gone.
Yes, grief is something I know well. In fact, you could say we’re on a first-name basis. I guess it comes with the territory when you lose a sister who was everything to you. It creates a chasm you never fully get beyond, leaving you without an anchor. And this to me was unbearable. So I turned to the very small, very select group of women I’d known all my life and called them sisters … because it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
And now after fifty-two years to find myself minus one is a feeling so gut-wrenching I want to scream. As a writer, I like to think of my words as my ammo, my link from point A to point B without ever having to move this butt from the chair. Yet, whatever I’m saying right now can’t touch the depth of my sadness over losing Allison or the unfathomable anger that there won’t be other days, other phone calls to commiserate over. What we had … is it. Yes, I know we shared some fantastic, wonderful moments and that all I need do is think of them, think of her with those big, funky glasses of hers, and I’m smiling. She deserves that celebration of life. All those incredibly special people do.
But you know the truth is I am so not there yet. Okay? Give me time.
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