I love her.
That's easy to say. And I can't even believe how hard it is to express what I know/think/feel about her.
I don't do eulogies.
Usually.
Not for my many relatives, friends, acquaintances, father, brother, a few husbands (pause for Cary's gigglesnortwhee)
but this one... yeah.
I'm a recipient.
Of her excessive kindness, love, concern, commiseration, sacrifice, care.
Those things are not equal.
Nor were her physical lungs equal to her heart. She needed a lung transplant but wasn't even on the damn list yet, in spite of being a non-drinker/non-smoker but because of her weight. Big FUCK YOU to the ones who decide, on high, who is or is not qualified to receive life. This is body shaming fucking illustrated.
My late brother gave every bit he had that qualified to others.
Nothing of me qualifies, but I would give it now or after.
Cary was in my age range. And we used to laugh, as she talked me through an abusive marriage, a heart surgery, 2 brain surgeries, and fleeing with a dog & 2 cats cross country.
She was an active proponent of animal's rights; one of the first Panther Pals.
Our last, 4 hour conversation, a few weeks ago, she laughed, that, "we'll be old wicked women terrorizing young orderlies in some tropical senior bitches' facility' laugh.
Some part of me knew it was our last.
But she was and will always be, part of my heart.
I've got more than 1 side to the "kids" today.
I have flu. But I'm also doing daily bloodwork to monitor my Coumadin levels for an entirely different issue, so I dragged my cooties-ridden butt out to get my daily bloodwork, then a lung scan.
I pulled in to the parking lot where I get my bloodwork done, and right next to me a guy pulled in apparently straight from Crazy Ed's World Of Really Big & Stupid Tires. It was so jacked there was a double drop step just for him to get in and out of it, and he was maybe 5'7'', 20 yrs old at most. It was Daddy Bought It.
Now, that's fine, I don't care, to each their own and all, but I kinda chuckled outloud, not even loud, really, and shook my head a little. But he flipped the frack out.
"WHAT THE FUCK YOU LAUGHING AT, OLD BITCH??" And came running around like he was going to jump me or something.
So, I leaned against my car, very casually, twirled my cane like the badass majorette I used to be but can easily be used in ninja warfare 🙂 and replied, "You. Look, if you don't run over me because you can't see over the dash without sitting on phonebooks in your I Have A Small Penis ride, I don't care what you drive, other than sucking up gas like mad, but best case scenario, you end up impressing a bunch of people who are easily impressed by oversized thing then get really unhappy when you bop out, Shawty."
I don't think he understood any of the insults, but somehow knew he was being ridiculed.
He said, "Just shut the fuck up, old bitch!" Then he bopped on into the next building.
So I went and coughed on his door handle.
All the children standing up, speaking out, marching, and demanding we "adults" get it right or they will be doing some serious voting out the ones who enable mass shooting by access to automatic weapons make me so damn proud.
Tide pod eaters and condom snorters and SWATTERS. I don't even have to say another word, you got me on this one.
But everybody was young once, and we did some truly stupid shit, too, and most of us came through when the clench was on, so let's cut the pod kids a break, listen to what the activists have to say, and remember this man, today, on the 50th anniversary of his assasination
