Friday, January 06, 2006


I once knew a woman in her forties. She had tightly permed red tinged hair, and a quivering chin with a nice smile. Her eyes lit up the world behind her glasses, and her clothing choices always looked comfortable. She used to pick me up for school in the morning, and sang LeeAnn Rhimes songs to me. I once spent the night at her house and we stayed up all night watching television and making Power Rangers cut and bake cookies. She used to make Sheppard's Pie, and cakes. Whenver I sat down next to her, she would always play with earlobes between her fingers. She had a loud laugh, and a brighter smile. She used to make me smile. She was my mother's best friend, and my father's favorite sister. She was my Godmother too. She used the word "fricking" in every possible sentence she could. On New Years Eve when I was in the seventh grade she died after a long battle with colon cancer. Her name was Georgia. And sometimes when that old Ray Price song comes on, I get a little bit sentimental. I think of her red hair, and her glasses, and her voice, and her humor. I think of what it meant to know her, and what it still means to have to say goodbye to her. She once told my dad that the worst thing about dying would be that she wouldn't get to see me and my sister grow up. I hope that I'm making her proud. I really love her.

I once knew a woman in her seventies. She had white frosted hair, but bleached it often. She was always dripping in gold, and diamonds. Excess was her one rule. If she wanted something, she had to have it, in every color and every size imaginable. She was generous and loving. She was unconditional in both. She didn't care about what you wanted, it didn't matter the cost, or the means to be able to get it, she always got it. She would go out of her way to do anything for anyone. She was relentlessly spending, and loving. When I was younger I used to sit on the floor besides her chair in her living room, and she would run her hands through my hair, and tell me how much she loved me. With her, I never had to guess about anything. She was blunt, and honest, and wonderful. I loved every little thing about her. She was my great grandmother, but a mother to my own mother. She lost her daughter last October, and after that she just gave up. She was so stricken with grief and sadness she no longer wished to go on. She died in July. I will always remember the little lessons she taught me about being polite, and proper, and how to tell the carat weight of a diamond. I really love her.

I once knew a boy who was about ten years old. He was my cousin, but moreso he was my friend. He had diabetes but nothing slowed him down. He had short brown hair and big wire rimmed glasses. When he died, I was only seven. My parents told me that the night of the funeral I asked them when he was coming back. I asked them if he'd be able to come over the house again. That story still makes me want to cry. It's been a very long time since he died but sometimes it's like he's never left. Sometimes when I look at his picture, I see him in myself. He drowned at a friends birthday party, while no one was paying attention. It was pointless and horrible. When I was in the seventh grade I stumbled upon the boy who's party he was at in the first place. He didn't even seem sorry. And even though he'd be about twenty two years old now, I will always think of him as that ten year old that I went to go see Batman with. Always. I really love him.

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