Today you would have been thirty-fine.
Yup, I meant to say that.
We used to to talk a lot about getting older. How we would get smarter, sexier, and just plain better as we aged. We even used to joke about what parts we would remove and get 'done' if we had cancer in our bodies. At least if we were going to face death, we could have better looking boobs.
Maybe that sounds calllous or vapid. It's a little bit of both. But we knew it was coming; we were health care providers. We watched people get sick, fight to get well, age, and survive all the time. We were going to age too, and knock it out of the park.
But 'we' didn't get there. She didn't make it. She had cancer in her body and new boobs weren't gonna cut it. She fought, she went blind, she suffered, and she died.
I don't feel as pissed at her anymore, thought I have my moments. These days I am just randomly and carelessly socked in the gut by waves of grief. It feels like a thick, swampy bog. Something big and heavy has to rise up to ripple those waters.
The other day I was driving home after hanging out with some friends on Christmas Eve. We had a lovely afternoon of brunch and laughs. My friend was there on the couch with her best friend. And I looked over at them and missed her so badly. And then I sobbed the whole way home. It's like that now.
In the infamous words of my grandmother (and picture this with a head cocked to the side and a South Indian accent because it makes it so much cuter): "whattodo."
I mean, really, what is there to do? Make a resolution to do what? Live? Not have cancer? Avoid suffering? Honestly, I'd have a better chance at jumping off the Space Needle and surviving.
So today I am just going to celebrate her, celebrate every sob, and every cataclysmic moment. And treasure that she died beautiful and beautifully.
Thank you my friend. We are not better off. But we are better.