Tuesday, March 22, 2005

And Unburdened

Today is my mom’s best friend’s birthday, the friend who died from stroke unexpectedly this past September. Unreal.

My mom reminded me that it was also her dad’s birthday, my grandpa, who upon the fourth heart attack died when I was nine years old. I missed the first day of fourth grade for his funeral. Twenty years later in my head he is wearing a bright red sports coat and holding a tumbler of drink on the rocks. He was Aries in full ardor out. I am Aries in reverse.

Yahtzee and whiskey, ahoy— I didn’t see my mom’s best friend very often anyway, and I can’t tell if I know she’s dead or if some day something hiding is going to surface and split me open, and then I’ll know. Or maybe because I didn’t see her very often she will continue to be as always: the only person who can call all people Honey as if it’s their first name, real —along with honest uproarious laughter!

My mom hopes the two are "up there celebrating together." Wherever they are, in spirit, atom, memory or otherwise, I hope they’re reaping the goods, drinking and bowling and unburdened.

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