She wasn't supposed to die...week 14

Losing & Keeping. Plus a picture of Isaac.

I have a great “My Friend Mary” question I was going to answer this week, but I don’t want to right now. This week I had news that floored me. I feel like I’ve gotten socked in the gut.

I found out that someone I used to work for in my twenties died. She was just a handful of years older than me — way too young and, more than that, way too alive. When I think of her not walking the Earth the only thought that comes to mind is that I will never get over it.

My ex-boss battled stage 4 colon cancer, diagnosed at the height of the pandemic, and — get this — kept it quiet. And then she quietly died without fanfare, without a service. The way I found out was crazy and random; After I found out I called a bunch of people from those days and none of them knew she died either. She just died.

I was surprised by how hard I took the news because, truth be told, it wasn’t like we’ve hung out for years. She moved her company to NYC a long time ago and was busy building an empire there. We only occasionally exchanged messages and checked in once in a great while. And yet I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get over her death. Why?

I was working as a freelance writer for her company when my sister died. In the wake of my sister’s death, she insisted I take a full-time job with her. I didn’t necessarily love the job, but I did it. She was the boss from hell at times, an older sister substitute and a lifesaver all rolled into one 5’2” dynamo. I had a place to go, things to get done and people to see at one of the worst times in my life. And I could always count on her to keep things interesting…I have many wacky stories of helping her actually start her company way back when she was doing it out of a one-bedroom apartment in Brentwood, working the Monterey Jazz Festival with her, introducing the world to a skin care guy who would become pretty famous, having the Northridge earthquake crash some event we were putting on, attending a legendary rock star’s wedding with her (she was a bride’s maid) and much more. I was thrilled the day I quit her company, and yet she always had my undying respect. She married three times— third time was the charm but I was around during the OG marriage — and then she had a child at age 50 by surrogate. I’m not mentioning her by name because now she has a daughter out there. But I think the thing that’s so unnerving is that I counted on her to be her: formidable, a piece of work, extremely smart, a stunning beauty, a little bit crazy, someone who didn’t quit, someone who didn’t lose. But then she did lose. And that is quite simply something that I will never get over.

As someone who has endured many deaths of dear people, I’ll tell you I don’t think you do get it over it. You somehow just go on. This week I also had a couple of stories due, I had to volunteer at a school Halloween party and tomorrow I’m hosting a birthday adventure and sleepover for my youngest son. He’s turning 13! Someone has to make his favorite cake. That’s how it works. You go on.

Chihuahua Mom

I realized that I’ve gone this many weeks and I’ve never posted a picture of Isaac. What a travesty!

(Isaac happens to be the most adorable dog in the world. Yet look at all that clean laundry piling up on the chair behind him! That’s the life of a freelance writer mom)

Keeping

I promised someone I’d post a link to this amazing short story by Thomas Dodson. I love it so much …it’s an Iowa-California story, of course.