It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

I want to thank everyone for your thoughts and compassion regarding the passing of my friend Stacey P. She was truly an amazing person with a heart even bigger than her huge personality. She lived and loved with everything she had. To think about that brings a smile to my face. She was freaking awesome.

I apologize for not replying to everyone personally. You are all so incredibly sweet. I'm just not strong enough to dig back in to those emotions of a few days ago. They aren't buried terribly deep. I'm passing along all your love and energy to the family. They need it so much more than I do.

The funeral is Tuesday morning. It'll be a full house. She grew up here in Phoenix and knew just about everyone in town.

Grieving is a strange thing. Having the funeral ahead of me has tempered my emotions somewhat. "I'll have a good cry on Tuesday, no need to cry now." As if I'm putting my feelings on hold. But then I haven't been able to come back here to Vox because I didn't want to relive my previous post, where I worked through what I was feeling when I heard the news. Hooray for compartmentalization!

I'm also angry, which pops up randomly as go through my days. It doesn't take much to set me off. I was in a meeting with my old friend Douchebag and I came unglued. I had warned my boss that it could happen and I apologized later for being unprofessional. She thought I was perfectly fine and frankly, probably enjoyed it.

Nothing else happening here that's worth reporting. Everything I do seems so insignificant. I'm sure I'll be back to being self-absorbed eventually. Ha. 😛

Again, thank you so much for all of your moral support and genuine concern. You are wonderful.

(((((HUGS)))))

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I miss you already.

It seems like we knew each other forever, but it's only been a few years. I was in awe of you from the moment we actually had a real conversation. You are the most ambitious, successful, self-confident, open, strong, outgoing, friendly, funny person I had ever met. You became my idol and my friend. I want to be you when I grow up, even though we are close to the same age.

We had some good laughs about how I was an accidental witness to your wedding. Well, the wedding party, that is, as you and Will and the group walked down the main drag in Telluride, where I was enjoying a beer festival after a hard day of skiing. I can still see you smiling bright in your beautiful dress.

Then came your pregnancy. Then your news about breast cancer. But you had a plan and we knew you would be okay. How could you not be?

Jack came out healthy and happy and you started your fight. We knew you would win. Nothing ever stood in your way and stayed standing.

When we met up for lunch a few times last summer after you started treatment, you were bald and bold. I don't even think your eyebrows had come back yet! But I didn't even notice after we started talking. There you were, loud and in charge just like always. And my admiration grew even more. I had no doubt you'd be fine. There was no question.

But that cancer was a sneaky thing. Your body was clean but the disease was hiding out in your brain. No problem! You went back in and had it taken out. We all celebrated Jack's first birthday.

When I returned from Europe in May I got the news that the cancer came back to your brain. This time the doctors couldn't get to it. Damn sneaky cancer.

This time, I got mad. It's not fair. I've only known you for a few years and that's not enough. It's not. Goddammit it's not.

If anyone had the connections, the resources, the money and the sheer will to fight this, you did. All that you accomplished in your lifetime came back to you in the form of help and support.

But our faith started to waver and in a rare moment of weakness, so did yours. But your wavering passed and you were going to make it - first to Jack entering Kindergarten, then to his high school graduation. We wanted to believe. We wanted you to believe.

So there we were last month, gathered for your 39th birthday party. You were amazing, loud and in charge as always, even though you looked, well, you looked like someone who was getting the snot beat out of you by this damn disease. I loved you even more.

Off you went to MD Anderson, then to Harvard, trying to find a treatment.

You came home. Stupid cancer decided to show up in your liver. What the fuck, Cancer?! Don't you know when to get out?

Today I got the news. You're gone. 

I take some comfort in the fact that you lived life to the fullest and you lived it hard. You never squandered a moment. Not one single moment. Did you ever actually sleep, my dear? You fought with every fiber of your being. A lesser person wouldn't have made it as long as you lasted in this fight. Your family will never want for love, support and help.

I've been reliving every precious minute I was lucky enough to spend in your glory. Your coming into my life was a wondrous gift.  

I'd say, 'may you rest in peace', but c'mon, rest and peacefulness aren't your style. I fully expect you to be causing a commotion somewhere out there. Someone bigger than life can never be really gone.

So I'll just say, thank you for letting this lowly soul into your circle of friends, if only for a brief moment of your time.  

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To YGRS, one of the sweetest, kindest, dearest, nicest, thoughtful-est, happiest, funniest, brightest, bubbly-est, (did I use sweetest already?) est-est people in the 'hood.

I hope you have the most wonderfulest birthdays ever!

Joy

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