Written: March 1, 2010
The week started out not so good for me. I was the victim of another "workforce reduction" on Monday... and it just seemed to slide downhill from there.
That same day, Rex crashed and totaled his beloved truck -- I am so grateful that he was okay, and please don't think I'm not aware that that single fact may have actually been an amazing stroke of luck that puts the rest of my whining to shame.... I couldn't bear to think of losing him. But the loss of that truck is a bad thing, not the least of which being that he and I both have a sentimental attachment to it.
Then last night, in the process of installing my birthday present -- a Roku gadget which allows me to download NetFlix directly to my television -- my Mac bit the dust. The" on" switch has been intermittently wigging out for months, but this time it's been 24 hours and I still can't get it to come back up. For me, the loss of the computer is a devastating loss.
It's not so much loss of files -- i had all the important stuff backed up but have lost some stuff that will be really annoying to replace -- as the fact that I am unemployed and broke and really, really don't want to go into the debt hole that I'd finally climbed out of when I don't know how I'm going to pay my mortgage, let alone a credit card bill -- to replace something so integral to my quality of life and a source of what little livlihood i have left.They will charge me $150 just to open the computer up.... it just makes me want to cry. (I am writing this now on Rex's NetBook. Blame any typos on my not being able to see the tiny screen very well.)
But then I got a phone call this morning that put everything in perspective, even as it proved a dismal ending to week that wasn't very good to begin with.
I have had a lot of "best friends" throughout my life, but the single most enduring friendship has been with Kelly Burch Cole. We met in college, lived as roommates for several years after my graduation, and -- as cliched as it sounds -- she is my sister more than just my friend. We've seen a lot less of each other in recent years -- she's a working mother with three children and I'm a single, often anticsocial person whose life has moved in far, far different directions.
But I always know she is there, and she - i hope -- has always known i was here.
And its not just Kelly who has become my family over the last 27 years -- her family has become mine as well. I dated her brother, Ray, on and off for a couple years; I lived with both her brother and her father in Huntsville for three years right after I graduated, working in their furniture store. (And I might add, I suffered all the same insantiy with Kelly's dad that his actual children did, and that alone bonded us in ways that can never be fully understood by anyone but us.)
Kelly introduced me to her mother, Elaina, while we were still in college. "Want to come with me to met my mom?" she asked one weekend. I was always ready for a road trip, so I packed a few things -- a dress, some heels, my hot curlers -- and off we went to Alabama.
Now, here is a point of continuing contention between myself and Kelly. I heard, "We're going to see Mom at the beach in Gulf Shores." Kelly swears she said: "We're going to see Mom CAMPING at the beach at Gulf Shores."
I still insist that I never heard the word "camping" because I would never have agreed to go camping, anywhere, anytime, with anybody. Imagine my chagrin to I find myself squatting around a campfire, ridiculously overpacked with nothing of any practical use but the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing. If I had not been able to borrow a sweat shirt from Elaina, I would have frozen to death. I'm not a camping kind of girl.
And yet, I had fun.(And I became addicted to Elaina's magnificent baked beans and ribs.... but I still do not camp.)
But Kelly's mom, Elaina, opened her arms and heart and home to me from that moment onward. During a long period when I was far from home, and my own family relationships were complicated, Elaina became my second mom, and I became a "yard kid."
When Elaina sent Kelly an easter basket at school, she sent one for me as well. When I spent my first Christmas away from home, Elaina included me in their family celebration -- an orgy of chili, homemade cookies and far too many generous gifts. I was blown away by the lengths at which she went to make me feel not just included, but as if I was a long-lost child.
When Kelly and I got our first apartment together, Elaina was there to help us move, to help us make it a home... and most importantly, she fed us when we were too broke to go to the grocery store.
Elaina was, even then, a "wise old lady" who listened to me through numerous crisis and heartbreaks. She truly taught me that sometimes you CAN choose your family, that blood is not always the most important thing that binds people together. She taught me what is is to have an open, generous heart.
A couple of years ago, Elaina was put on oxygen. A lifetime of smoking finally caught up with her. The last time I saw her, she couldn't walk four feet without gasping for air, and the sight scared the hell out of me.
The doctors didn't expect her to last as long as she did. Kelly called me Friday night, and the fear and sorrow in her voice was terrible. Elaina had fallen and broken her arm, and Kelly was certain that the end was near. Elaina seemed, finally, too tired to keep on fighting.
On Saturday night, the end came peacefully for Elaina, and Kelly was there with her. I thank God for both of those things.
I do have one regret... that I did not return Elaina's last phone call. She called me at Christmas and left a message to tell me that she loved me, and that she was grateful to have had me in her life. She knew her time was almost over, and it is typical of her generous spirit to want to share just a little more love with people she cared about.
I don't really know why I didn't call her back. I was probably caught up in my own petty, personal crap and just never got around to it. I know that she knew -- knows -- that she was special to me, that I was the one who gained so much by being a part of her life - but I wish I had told her that one last time.
Life is short. Tell the people you love what they mean to you.
That same day, Rex crashed and totaled his beloved truck -- I am so grateful that he was okay, and please don't think I'm not aware that that single fact may have actually been an amazing stroke of luck that puts the rest of my whining to shame.... I couldn't bear to think of losing him. But the loss of that truck is a bad thing, not the least of which being that he and I both have a sentimental attachment to it.
Then last night, in the process of installing my birthday present -- a Roku gadget which allows me to download NetFlix directly to my television -- my Mac bit the dust. The" on" switch has been intermittently wigging out for months, but this time it's been 24 hours and I still can't get it to come back up. For me, the loss of the computer is a devastating loss.
It's not so much loss of files -- i had all the important stuff backed up but have lost some stuff that will be really annoying to replace -- as the fact that I am unemployed and broke and really, really don't want to go into the debt hole that I'd finally climbed out of when I don't know how I'm going to pay my mortgage, let alone a credit card bill -- to replace something so integral to my quality of life and a source of what little livlihood i have left.They will charge me $150 just to open the computer up.... it just makes me want to cry. (I am writing this now on Rex's NetBook. Blame any typos on my not being able to see the tiny screen very well.)
But then I got a phone call this morning that put everything in perspective, even as it proved a dismal ending to week that wasn't very good to begin with.
I have had a lot of "best friends" throughout my life, but the single most enduring friendship has been with Kelly Burch Cole. We met in college, lived as roommates for several years after my graduation, and -- as cliched as it sounds -- she is my sister more than just my friend. We've seen a lot less of each other in recent years -- she's a working mother with three children and I'm a single, often anticsocial person whose life has moved in far, far different directions.
But I always know she is there, and she - i hope -- has always known i was here.
And its not just Kelly who has become my family over the last 27 years -- her family has become mine as well. I dated her brother, Ray, on and off for a couple years; I lived with both her brother and her father in Huntsville for three years right after I graduated, working in their furniture store. (And I might add, I suffered all the same insantiy with Kelly's dad that his actual children did, and that alone bonded us in ways that can never be fully understood by anyone but us.)
Kelly introduced me to her mother, Elaina, while we were still in college. "Want to come with me to met my mom?" she asked one weekend. I was always ready for a road trip, so I packed a few things -- a dress, some heels, my hot curlers -- and off we went to Alabama.
Now, here is a point of continuing contention between myself and Kelly. I heard, "We're going to see Mom at the beach in Gulf Shores." Kelly swears she said: "We're going to see Mom CAMPING at the beach at Gulf Shores."
I still insist that I never heard the word "camping" because I would never have agreed to go camping, anywhere, anytime, with anybody. Imagine my chagrin to I find myself squatting around a campfire, ridiculously overpacked with nothing of any practical use but the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing. If I had not been able to borrow a sweat shirt from Elaina, I would have frozen to death. I'm not a camping kind of girl.
And yet, I had fun.(And I became addicted to Elaina's magnificent baked beans and ribs.... but I still do not camp.)
But Kelly's mom, Elaina, opened her arms and heart and home to me from that moment onward. During a long period when I was far from home, and my own family relationships were complicated, Elaina became my second mom, and I became a "yard kid."
When Elaina sent Kelly an easter basket at school, she sent one for me as well. When I spent my first Christmas away from home, Elaina included me in their family celebration -- an orgy of chili, homemade cookies and far too many generous gifts. I was blown away by the lengths at which she went to make me feel not just included, but as if I was a long-lost child.
When Kelly and I got our first apartment together, Elaina was there to help us move, to help us make it a home... and most importantly, she fed us when we were too broke to go to the grocery store.
Elaina was, even then, a "wise old lady" who listened to me through numerous crisis and heartbreaks. She truly taught me that sometimes you CAN choose your family, that blood is not always the most important thing that binds people together. She taught me what is is to have an open, generous heart.
A couple of years ago, Elaina was put on oxygen. A lifetime of smoking finally caught up with her. The last time I saw her, she couldn't walk four feet without gasping for air, and the sight scared the hell out of me.
The doctors didn't expect her to last as long as she did. Kelly called me Friday night, and the fear and sorrow in her voice was terrible. Elaina had fallen and broken her arm, and Kelly was certain that the end was near. Elaina seemed, finally, too tired to keep on fighting.
On Saturday night, the end came peacefully for Elaina, and Kelly was there with her. I thank God for both of those things.
I do have one regret... that I did not return Elaina's last phone call. She called me at Christmas and left a message to tell me that she loved me, and that she was grateful to have had me in her life. She knew her time was almost over, and it is typical of her generous spirit to want to share just a little more love with people she cared about.
I don't really know why I didn't call her back. I was probably caught up in my own petty, personal crap and just never got around to it. I know that she knew -- knows -- that she was special to me, that I was the one who gained so much by being a part of her life - but I wish I had told her that one last time.
Life is short. Tell the people you love what they mean to you.
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