October is the month when all things turn pink as the media reminds us to be aware of this cancer that holds fearful women in its grips. I don't need a special month because I am reminded every single day of the ugliness of this disease by the ones I've lost to it. By my memories of them. By the smiles of happier days seen in the old photographs as they are slowly starting to fade (the photos, not the smiles). By the music I hear. They're always with me. Especially you Nancy; I think of you every day.
Nancy was my college roommate. We only roomed together for three semesters, but she was and always will be referred to as Nancymycollegeroomie. I don't know how she lived with me that long. I was such a slob, and my side of the room was always a cluttered pigsty. She was a minimalist, a very neat minimalist. I smoked. A lot. Blue air breezed out of the room when either of us opened the door. She didn't smoke (well, knowing what I now do about second hand smoke, I guess the poor girl did smoke), and she never once complained that I did. So when she told me she'd be rooming with Bev the next year, I cried like she'd asked for a divorce. It all worked out, though. I became an RA (they have a room to themselves) and we lived on the same floor of our dorms until graduation.
We were on the same wavelength, often understanding each other without speaking the words. One dark night on campus, we acted out an impromptu murder mystery, making it up as we went along. The poor victim? Bessie the Cow. I guess you had to be there. We watched the same TV, the old black and white one in the dorm basement. We cried when the service people and POWs came home from Vietnam. We wore our matching Peter Pan slippers and sang and danced when Peter Pan was a "special viewing event" shown one evening around Easter. I bet few of you even remember the black and white version starring Mary Martin. The play ends with a touching scene, but the tears that well up in my eyes are not for the grownup Wendy, but for my Nancy who was not allowed to grow old.
We went our separate ways in adulthood, but she lived in the town next to my hometown so we regularly visited. She took care of me during my recovery from a broken leg. We knew I'd get better and she wouldn't; yet, she was a major part of my surviving those awful months. She also unknowingly helped me keep my problems in perspective. December 26 was always our day together. We'd have dinner, maybe see a movie, and exchange gifts. My favorite gift was the addition she made to my Santa collection, a Kwanza Santa. Now, don't go thinking racist, think reality. The celebration of Kwanza never included Santa Claus! I don't know why KMart thought it should. The gift went back and forth between us for years, but it was lost at the end. Nancy was finally too sick to celebrate Christmas.
The call came from her sister a few days before I was due to return to my hometown for a visit anyway. In complete denial, I told Donna I'd be there in a few days. As I went through my chores, a voice spoke clearly to me and said, Go now. I obeyed. The family didn't seem surprised to see me at the door to her apartment that evening. I brought her Christmas present, a soft colorful crocheted necklace that I put on her to brighten up all the white: the white sheets, the white blanket, her white tufts of hair, the white pillow, her pale still white face. We talked for hours; I talked and she listened. At one point, her family even left to go out to dinner. Finally, I knew it was time to go. It was time for her family to surround her in love as she breathed her last. An hour or so after I left her home, she left too.
I miss her all the time. I have trouble understanding how such a kind and loving person was not needed here on earth to spread her love a little longer. I have trouble understanding that she was my age, and that she died so young. I have trouble understanding how one who was gentle and never hurt another living thing had to suffer so deeply. Yes, I have trouble with all of it.
It's October! Bring on the pumpkins, the black cats, scary masks, and crazy costumes! It's Halloween, one of Nancy's favorite holidays. Boo!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment