Here is what I do know.

It's been a long time since I've written. If it's any consolation, I've thought a lot about it - trying to get my head around what I want to say. I'm still not sure.  But, today is a a special day and I couldn't let that pass without a note.
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Dear Rona,

Today, you would have been 50.  I’ve no doubt that along with everything else, you would have worn this well and with perfect hair.  But like all other November firsts that have passed since 1999, I wonder what you would have been like during that particular year.

Would your hair be long or short?  Would you have finally given up your perfect tan and taken up sunscreen?  Would California Chicken Salad from White Flint still be your favorite – or as recent changes have taken place – would you be missing it madly?  Would you still complain about what a pain in the ass it is to make your caramel brownies – but you’d do it anyway and with a smile on your face?  Would you have finally bought a car with an automatic transmission?  Would you still be taping a little paper with the date on your mascara so you’d know to throw it out after exactly 3 months?

Hard to know those things, but  here is what I do know. 

I know you would still be hilariously funny.  I know that I Love Lucy and Shirley Temple movies would still make you laugh.  I know that,you would remember every  name from junior high and high school and be Facebook friends with them all.  I know you’d still love a summer full of the beach, hard shell crabs and outdoor concerts and that you’d have a hard time finding good leather gloves that fit your very long fingers.

I know you would be successful in whatever you were doing.  I know your mother would still be driving you crazy and you’d roll your eyes at her – and talk to her every.single.day.  I know you would still be doting on your grown nephews and niece – reveling in their accomplishments.

I know I would have called you to confirm the appropriateness of an outfit or ask who the hell is friending me on Facebook, only to have you remind me for the tenth time that I sat next to that person in English or History but never math because I skipped that class all the time.  I know when motherhood had me questioning my sanity, you would have reassured me and told me I was doing just fine.  I know you would have promised to tell Mini-Me all about our exploits – and she would have held you to that. I know you would have dragged my ass to our reunion.

I know you would have held my hand when I buried my parents and shared my joy at the birth of my daughter.  I know you would be dragging my sister, who recently relocated back to that area, to the mall in search of warm clothes,  trying to get her excited about shopping. You would do that not because you are particularly close to my sister, but because I am – and you would do that in my absence. And you would both laugh your asses off while making fun of people at the mall and my sister would smile and know just why you were my Big Susan.

I would still call you at all hours – and you me.  We would talk – and text – about all the same shit we talked about for years.  We would never say our names when we call, just “hey, it’s me.”  We would know just by the sound of the others voice if the other was okay or what they needed.

But what I know most of all is that you would still be my friend – my Big Susan.   

We may not be together  today but I take comfort in knowing you’re in great company. No doubt my dad toasted you with a good scotch and Jack and my mom made you a little something to eat.  I'm certain you're surrounded by friends - and family - who also left us way too soon.  While these things comfort me - I'm selfish enough to admit they also piss me off. I'd rather you be here.

Happy 50^th Birthday Rona.  I miss you every day. 

My name is Randi and I can't....

My name is Randi and I can't live up to Pinterest, Pottery Barn or West Elm.  I can’t live up to a single Lifetime movie about friendship, sisterhood or the bonds between women, women and men, sisters, brothers or those that share an obsession with a boy band.  I most certainly can’t live up to all those perfect mom’s out there – those that create those fucking Pinterest crafts in the first place, those who have children that never get into trouble, always do as asked and never say anything inappropriate.  I am not that mother and I most certainly do not have that child.

I just read this awesome post about a mom who hit rock bottom.  It totally inspired me to look at myself and acknowledge my own rock bottom. I have judged. I have acted badly. I have not understood.  I have made less than stellar choices that go beyond a bad haircut and 80’s fashion (70’s doesn’t count – we had fewer options.) I wielded my sharp tongue and hurt others.  I was less than empathetic.  I didn’t apologize.  I've been a total jackass.

In my world, the TV is probably on too often, we sometimes eat on the run, stay up too late and my floor needs washing.  I’m impatient, bossy and anyone who knows me will agree that on some topics, I have very strong opinions.  I will admit to earning my “bitch” patch years ago.  I've been rock-bottom more than once. 

I have forgotten.

More than once I have forgotten a birthday, a meaningful time or a friend in need.  I’m so caught up in my own bullshit that I don’t always pay attention to what is happening around me. This happens to everyone – I know this. I just need to remember that before I get my knickers in a twist about someone forgetting about me….that they may be so deep in their own shit that they can’t wade over to help me with mine.  To my friends, I apologize for forgetting, for forgetting that I’ve forgotten and for what I will likely forget tomorrow.  Let’s talk over a drink – if I can remember.

I’ve gotten on my high horse.

Yep, I’ve been there. And let’s be honest – you probably have, too.  You’d like to think the view from up there is better…but really, it’s pretty lonely when no one wants to share it with you. To my friends, I’ll walk beside you. The company is so much better that the view instantly improves.

I have been more judgey than Judy.

Yep, I’ve passed judgment. I formed opinions and sometimes made them known.  To be clear, I’m not talking about knowing the nuances of a situation and thinking someone is taking the wrong path. I’m talking about knowing nothing or close to that about someone, something and deciding you still know best for them, how you would do it better or dismiss their reaction. I’ve looked at someone else’s situation and made an assumption – if for no other reason than to make me feel better. I should know better. I’ve been judged long, loud and often and I hate it every fucking time.  To my friends, I promise to ask to borrow your shoes so I know what it feels like to be you and if they don’t fit, to shut the hell up.

I’ve not taken the time.

Sometimes, I feel like my life is the autobahn and frankly, I am not built for speed.  Geek tells me

all the time that my weekends are busy and well-planned and then I complain I’m exhausted and don’t have time to just be.  I found myself home this weekend and really just wanted to chat with a friend – not in a self serving way. I truly wanted to know – how were things going? Does Lips like her new gig?  How did Kooky do at her sleepover?  Was Geek feeling better?  How was Crafty holding up in the cold weather she hates so much? I wanted to thank Stretch for a really well timed email I got last week – and let her know it made the difference.  And Patron, we haven’t talked in while – how are you?  I want to stop planning to do things with friends and practice just being a friend.  To my friends, I will take a deep breath and have a drink at the ready – when you have a moment, just stop by or call and we’ll visit if even for just a few minutes. I will drop a line or leave a message. I know it will mean something and you’ll do the same when you can.

I have forgotten.

Did I already write about that?

I have been impatient.

I hate waiting. I’m painfully prompt – it’s a family thing.  We’ll circle the block to get to the party on time so that we’re not there early. If you told my parents to come over at six, they’d be there at five.  Now, in my defense, being late is a huge pet peeve and I honestly don’t believe there are that many valid reasons for it.  But, that is not the type of waiting I’m talking about. I’m talking about waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right deal. Waiting for things to happen or be dealt with on a schedule that works for someone else or the bigger picture – not just for my immediate gratification. Now, I’m not the kind that reads the end of the book first – but I’m always in a rush to finish.  To my friends, I promise to smell the roses, sip my drink (well, most of the time) and enjoy the journey.

The fact that you are my friends despite my imperfections continues to astonish me. Some of you have pulled me out of a rock bottom moment more than once (many of you way more than that.) To you, I am so grateful that you stood beside me when you may not have wanted to.  You called me friend when I was undeserving.  You were your best when I was at my worst. That you held my hand, loaned a shoulder and dried my tears.  These are things I have not forgotten.

So my friends, in this Valentine week – I promise to be a better friend.  I will try to remember, to be more patient. I will not judge (okay, who am I kidding – let’s aim for judging less) and I will catch my breath.  And, I will totally continue to support you in your rock-bottom moments.  I will sink to your level as you have sunk to mine – just so you are not alone. I will not say “I told you so” or ask you why.  In fact, I will offer you a cocktail to celebrate because the only way to go is up.  This, I won’t forget.

Life through a lens

So, Neiman had cancer. Had is the operative word.  Treatment ended in December (pretty fucking awesome Christmas present) and so far, all follow-up has been clean.  Elated is an understatement.  As I’ve mentioned, cancer changed Neiman in ways I didn’t expect: she got a potty mouth and the edge is gone. She’s softer in a way that is hard to describe but seems more content in her own skin. 

The journey through cancer treatment is a long and painful one. The ups and downs, the fear and victory, the exhaustion, side effects and uncertainty.  Neiman knew she wouldn’t go through it alone and indeed she didn’t – but I’m not sure she expected to make friends in chemo – the Chemo Amigos.  Their bond was immediate and everlasting.  I was lucky enough to meet these amazing ladies when I was on duty during chemo treatment #2 – they are amazing. There is a certain oddity of finding such joy and humor in a chemo room but these ladies lit up the room. Their optimism and ability to embrace the process with humor, grace and dignity is inspiring.

I’m not their only admirer….the local news has covered them and a magazine is doing a story on them.  This was written by the photographer for that magazine.  He totally got it.

http://www.josephroybal.com/blog/2013/8/life-and-so-much-of-it

So to the photographer who saw life and so much of it through his lens….kudos to you. I knew it was there all along.

When a mighty rock falls

For the first time, I don’t know what to say to my Big Susan, Neiman. You see, last night she lost one of her Big Susan’s, the Rock. 

Y’all know that I know what it’s like to lose a Big Susan. I’ve talked about here and here I talk about losing the original Big Susan. While that gives me an inkling of what she is feeling and a great deal of empathy for what she is going through, each person’s grief is their own and the loss is deeply personal.

The Rock was her answer to all of life’s practical questions.  He helped her buy two homes, multiple cars, computers, and assorted electronics, tools and the like. He installed, he repaired and he tinkered. He was a second home to her late dog, Beau and her current pooch, Grace. They didn’t go to a kennel – oh no. They stayed with Rock in the Big House.  I’m not sure who enjoyed those visits more – Rock or the dogs.

When Mini-Me first came onto the scene, Rock help Neiman and I see each other.  He got me freebies, vouchers and discounts so I could take Mini-me to the Mile High city.   I knew how to thank him – I had chocolate covered strawberries delivered to his desk. He only cared about the chocolate; the strawberries were just a vehicle to get the chocolate to his mouth.  And, the Rock was no chocolate snob – spending lots on that really good chocolate was lost on him. He didn’t savor every bite. He was like a kid on Easter – just munch it down with joy.

But Rock wasn’t just there for the easy stuff.  When Neiman faced family angst, he was there. When she fought her own battle with cancer, he was with her every step of the way. Lending an ear and often a shoulder.  As she has moved through her career, every turn, every change in navigation was done after talking to Rock.  When Neiman knew it was time for Beau to cross the Rainbow Bridge, Rock was there.  He held her hand, knowing she was doing the right thing.  The tears that fell night were not Neiman’s alone.

Losing a friend is so very hard. It’s a different loss than that of a parent or family elder.  You look at yourself differently – at your own mortality and many questions race through your head.  When Neiman called me last night she simply said, “he’s gone.” She was quiet. There were no tears – just silence. Grief comes in many forms and shocked silence is one of them.  I reminded her that Beau was waiting for him.  They are together in an old house with a big yard and lots of things to fix.  A man should always have a dog by his side and Rock is now with Beau. A whole different kind of big house.

My trip to be with her this week has been long planned – we had planned to fill the days with girl stuff and a shared birthday visit with Rock.  I will still be with her this week – but our time will be different. Our visit with Rock will be goodbye. Our days may be filled with memories and tears – perhaps some laughter will find us along the way.

Neiman spoke to Rock every day for the last 13 years. Now, she doesn’t know what to do. I tell her to keep talking. He’s listening.

Robert Reid Blankenship 1956-2013

Friend to many, Big Susan to dear sweet Neiman.

May his memory be a blessing

To read about Robert and his extraordinary contribution to the lives he touched, click here.