Aulways and Forever...

So I tried to call my friend Brad today. I've been meaning to set up some time to go see him, so I was hoping to drop by the nursing facility where's he'd moved to this past summer. He had MS. Had.

He died September 22.

I learned this from his sister, whom I'd called to see how I could get in touch with him since all I got when I dialed his phone was a message saying the phone number was no longer in service. My first thought was that the phone set up was too difficult to use or that he was no longer able to use it effectively, so they disconnected it. Turns out the latter supposition was correct, but to an extreme I wasn't prepared to consider so soon.

I learned he'd spent the last three weeks of his life in the hospital, that he died from respiratory complications, that in this hospital here in St. Louis he'd received the best care he'd ever had, that he was surrounded by his family, and that his death was a very peaceful one.

Brad was cremated. And typical of my friend, he wanted part of his ashes scattered at the H of the Hollywood sign in L.A., and part of his ashes will be interred in a plot near his parents' graves in St. Louis.

My timing with Brad has always sucked. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends - I was five when we met in the first grade. He lit up the room at our 20th high school reunion. For me, he was the only reason to be there.

After I hung up the phone with Brad's sister, I spent the first ten minutes reeling from the news, wishing I could have said good-bye, wishing I could have picked up the phone a month ago and gone to see him.

I'm pretty sure I had a dream about him some time in the past three weeks. One in which Brad was talking, that his MS had reversed its course and he was better and walking and hugging (the latter he missed being able to do). Maybe he is better now. And maybe he's still saving me a place like he promised the last time I saw him in August.

For some reason, I can't this tune from Dave Matthews Band out of my head right now:

I am no Superman
I have answers for you
I am no hero, that's for sure
But I do know one thing
Where you are is where I belong
I do know where you go is where I wanna be
Where are you going?

Brad, I love you. Aulways.

Met the In-Law

[Note: Some names have been changed. Don't want any google searches making life unpleasant.]

I dragged my BFF to my writer aunt's book signing. I thought she would find it interesting, but mostly I wanted a witness.

Today was the day I finally met my brother-in-law, Eremy-Jay. It was magical.

Yes, he is as short as his pictures suggest, and his head is very small. Yet the large stetson fits him nice and tight. The cowboy hat, along with the bullriding t-shirt and large rodeo belt buckle was a breath of fresh air in the Holocaust Museum.

I greeted them, hugging my sister first. Then I held out my hand to my BIL and said, "Hi, Eremy-Jay. It's nice to meet you."

Eremy-Jay's tiny head smiled and he grabbed my hand in his tiny, but overcompensating grip and said, "Nice to meet you. What is your name?"

"I'm Marcia," I replied, understanding that he's never met me and gently trying to pry my crushed hand from his grip. His face lit up and he suddenly pulled me into a hug, causing my forehead to collide with the brim of the decidely inflexible and apparently immovable straw hat.

Pulling away, I managed to gird my loins and chit-chat a bit my sister and her spousal unit, but people were coming in the doors, including relatives and old neighbors and friends who knew my parents. It was easy and rather nice to be distracted by it all.

I bought my writer aunt's book. She signed it, and then BFF and I disappeared into the Holocaust Exhibit until the program began.

The turnout was pretty large, so they moved things into the board room. Sis and my Boston aunt were there, saving seats for us. Boston aunt sat between me and Eremy-Jay, who, not surprisingly, fidgets. During my writer aunt's talk, I was pleased to learn that the cowboy hat is indeed removeable, if only for the few moments when Eremy-Jay fidgeted enough to drop it on the floor. Twice during the presentation, he reached over and wanted to see my book, which I let him have. I admit I was impressed by his interest, so I thought I'd offer to buy them a copy of the book, thus keeping his tiny hands off mine.

After the program was over, we started to file out. I asked them if they wanted a copy of the book. My sister brightened up, "Yes. That would be really nice!"

Eremy-Jay says, "Can we get two?"

I looked at my sister and then at Eremy-Jay and then at my sister again. "Do the two of you need two books?"

Sis says, "No, we can share."

"Well, I want one for my brother," Eremy-Jay unreasoned.

I glared at my sister. This is the brother that's LIVING WITH THEM. IN. THE. SAME. HOUSE.

Rather than telling him that if he wants one for his brother, he can buy one, I bought it. Maybe it's guilt for calling him an Oompa-Loompa behind his back. Or for not allowing them to stay with me in my house while they were in town. I don't know. Still, after spending $54 on two books that will only end up as a fourth leg for a coffee table or a chew toy for one of their six dogs, Eremy-Jay will remain an Oompa-Loompa. And they're still not staying in my house.

Sis then invited me to go to lunch with them at Lion's Choice. (It should be noted that it was 4:00.) I told her I ate lunch. Eremy-Jay said, "Well, just come and sit with us."

"I have to take [BFF] home, and I was invited to Uncle Enny-Kay's house." A part of me suspected the only reason I was being asked to go to Lion's Choice was because I might have been expected to pay.

BFF and I blended into the crowd a bit more and schmoozed. I talked with Boston aunt some, but learned she was headed for the airport. Drat. I needed some family history. I'll get it though.

Moving on...

More schmoozing and deftly avoiding the happy couple, my sister meets up with us again as we're getting ready to leave. "We'll see you at Uncle Enny-Kay's house!"

"Oh, you've decided to go?" I ask. Accccckkkkk!

"Yeah," she said brightly.

Internally, I roll my eyes.

"All right. Well, then I guess I'll see you at Uncle Enny-Kay's."

"Okay."

While I'm walking out to my car, my BFF said, "She really pushes your buttons."

"Yeah," I sighed.

BFF believes there's some Aspberger's involved with Eremy-Jay as she observed him rubbing his fingers together a lot. I'll take her word for it. Also she observed that the happy couple are both pretty out of touch with reality. Uh-huh. Yup.

I spent about a half hour at BFF's house, bitching, letting a second dose of Excedrin kick in and cuddling with cats.

I'd tell you about the rest of the evening at my uncle's house, which was relatively uneventful, but looking back 24 hours later, it was just kind of sad for me. Sad because I really do miss my sister and I still worry about her, but she and her hubby are a package deal now. It's like if a favorite sweater gets ripped in such a way that it's no longer wearable, but I can't bear to throw it away.

Hmm...

Anyway, I had to get back home. I walked with my sister to show her my car, embracing her as we walked. We're halfway down my uncle's lengthy driveway and all of a sudden, here comes Eremy-Jay running on his tiny booted feet. "Oh, I want to see your car, too!" he exclaimed, breathless.

So much for some alone time with my sister.

Well, I guess I can share that Buffalo Bill sat in the driver's seat of my new car and bounced excitedly. I had to explain the hybrid engine function to them, they thought I had to plug it in to charge it.

Having explained this and that, it was time for me to go. Eremy-Jay pulled me into that awkward hug and said, "So, do I have your respect now?"

Deftly avoiding the cowboy hat brim of death, I replied, "As long as I have yours." He laughed and crushed the bones of my hand together again. (I honestly saw my 73-year-old uncle jump when Eremy-Jay shook his hand.) I told him take care of my sister, and he smiled, "Don't worry. I will!"

I then gave my sister a big hug and a kiss, told them to drive carefully and watched them walk back to my uncle's house, arms around each other's waists.

Strange little man, but a definite improvement over the first husband.

I don't know how dinner with my brother, SIL, sister and BIL went on Saturday, and I didn't ask. I assumed that since there were no contusion, bandages or open sores, any conflict that might have been was limited to verbal assaults. Although my brother does so enjoy being antagonistic and ill-mannered.

*sigh*

On the bright side, my niece called me "Tante" thanks to my BFF's coaching. And when it was time for them to go, she didn't want to leave my arms, starting to cry when I gave her to her mom. She reached for me and it just warmed my heart. My girl!

Mom said dryly, "Wow, I really feel good about me."

Heh.