(no subject)
I just found out that my friend, Terry, who made the macrame jewelry I adored, is dead.
It's probably odd to call Terry a friend. We never socialized away from the craft shows where she sold her stuff. We talked about doing so, but never managed it. She was busy, and so was I. But I followed her to various craft shows all over the city and suburbs, more than I would have visited without her being an attraction, and got to know her in 20-30 minute conversations over the course of 20 years. So I guess we were friends.
Terry and her husband, Tom, worked the shows together. You need a husband or partner, as I found out during the few years I did craft shows. Then you have someone to help carry the display pieces and the stock, someone to let you take a bathroom break or to bring you some lunch (and then talk to the shoppers while you take a few bites). Terry and Tom always seemed like such great friends -- they were from my parents' generation and became role models for me. I wanted Rich and me to be friends that way, doing fun things together.
Tom retired from his job during the time I knew them, and then came stories of road trips to find antique jewelry and beads for Terry's crafting. They would drive to Savannah on old highway routes, avoiding the interstates, and take their time, stopping whenever they felt the urge. I definitely wanted to do that with Rich, someday, though I never believed we'd have the financial ability to really retire. There were stories about their grandchildren and then, by the time I realized Rich and I wouldn't be having kids, tales of her great-grandchildren.
The last time I saw Terry was at a craft show in the far south suburbs. It was in my "year off" from cancer, when I was feeling great but knew that the chemo had never really destroyed all the cancer, and that it might grow back. Terry told me she had something like the Sight and told me I'd be okay. Tom had been having health problems, and I was worried about him. It was the first time either of them seemed any older than me.
Yet he's alive, and Terry was gone shortly after I started chemo back in March. I just heard on Friday night. I sent a card to Tom this morning, full of useless sympathy, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Terry was sturdy. She was tiny but never frail, and I'd have bet she would go on forever. Certainly, she would outlive me.
We had a similar experience about a year ago with our ballroom dance teacher, Shelia, who also seemed younger than she was -- and healthier than either Rich or me. We took her class at the Park District over and over again, because we weren't terribly good but it was fun to be dancing together. And then I was in chemo, and I kept thinking that when I was healthy again, we'd go back to her class and dance some more. It was one of the things I was really looking forward to doing again. But Shelia died while I was away, and I didn't hear about it until months later, at one of my Park District exercise classes. I sobbed all over the place, because it just seemed so wrong that she was dead, so fast.
And yet, I think they might have wanted to go quickly, rather than to be sick for years. That was always my (admittedly selfish) plan.
I'm imagining these ladies in heaven with my mom -- who would have adored them both, had she been around to meet them. I don't suppose my version of heaven is recognized by any organized religion, and it would probably horrify my Nice Lutheran teachers. But it's quite a creative Sewing Circle I'm picturing, with my mom and her oil paints adorning the sunsets, Terry making jewelry for the angels, and Shelia teaching them all to dance with panache, while my Schatzie and mom's dog, Fritzie, play with my kitten girls, Sabrina and Smokey.
And that's where my head is at this bright, sunny, cold Monday morning. Wishing all of you a week full of only good news and good things.
It's probably odd to call Terry a friend. We never socialized away from the craft shows where she sold her stuff. We talked about doing so, but never managed it. She was busy, and so was I. But I followed her to various craft shows all over the city and suburbs, more than I would have visited without her being an attraction, and got to know her in 20-30 minute conversations over the course of 20 years. So I guess we were friends.
Terry and her husband, Tom, worked the shows together. You need a husband or partner, as I found out during the few years I did craft shows. Then you have someone to help carry the display pieces and the stock, someone to let you take a bathroom break or to bring you some lunch (and then talk to the shoppers while you take a few bites). Terry and Tom always seemed like such great friends -- they were from my parents' generation and became role models for me. I wanted Rich and me to be friends that way, doing fun things together.
Tom retired from his job during the time I knew them, and then came stories of road trips to find antique jewelry and beads for Terry's crafting. They would drive to Savannah on old highway routes, avoiding the interstates, and take their time, stopping whenever they felt the urge. I definitely wanted to do that with Rich, someday, though I never believed we'd have the financial ability to really retire. There were stories about their grandchildren and then, by the time I realized Rich and I wouldn't be having kids, tales of her great-grandchildren.
The last time I saw Terry was at a craft show in the far south suburbs. It was in my "year off" from cancer, when I was feeling great but knew that the chemo had never really destroyed all the cancer, and that it might grow back. Terry told me she had something like the Sight and told me I'd be okay. Tom had been having health problems, and I was worried about him. It was the first time either of them seemed any older than me.
Yet he's alive, and Terry was gone shortly after I started chemo back in March. I just heard on Friday night. I sent a card to Tom this morning, full of useless sympathy, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Terry was sturdy. She was tiny but never frail, and I'd have bet she would go on forever. Certainly, she would outlive me.
We had a similar experience about a year ago with our ballroom dance teacher, Shelia, who also seemed younger than she was -- and healthier than either Rich or me. We took her class at the Park District over and over again, because we weren't terribly good but it was fun to be dancing together. And then I was in chemo, and I kept thinking that when I was healthy again, we'd go back to her class and dance some more. It was one of the things I was really looking forward to doing again. But Shelia died while I was away, and I didn't hear about it until months later, at one of my Park District exercise classes. I sobbed all over the place, because it just seemed so wrong that she was dead, so fast.
And yet, I think they might have wanted to go quickly, rather than to be sick for years. That was always my (admittedly selfish) plan.
I'm imagining these ladies in heaven with my mom -- who would have adored them both, had she been around to meet them. I don't suppose my version of heaven is recognized by any organized religion, and it would probably horrify my Nice Lutheran teachers. But it's quite a creative Sewing Circle I'm picturing, with my mom and her oil paints adorning the sunsets, Terry making jewelry for the angels, and Shelia teaching them all to dance with panache, while my Schatzie and mom's dog, Fritzie, play with my kitten girls, Sabrina and Smokey.
And that's where my head is at this bright, sunny, cold Monday morning. Wishing all of you a week full of only good news and good things.