Yes, there was an $800 bill

I have to be honest with you.

I’m really behind from the quick trip down to Miami and my head is… well… fucked, at the moment. A good friend has finally made the decision to accept hospice care, and it’s difficult not to think or write about everything through the murky film of that news.

It’s hard not to tell you about having fun in Miami with Avitable, Finn and Jester and UMB and Othurme, without thinking of a man who is saying goodbye to his wife. A man whom I’ve met.

It’s hard to walk into a daycare, my head full of thoughts of this other mother, and have a small blond come racing around the corner and throw herself into my arms, her face as bright as any Christmas tree. I knew I was missed and loved before she said a word. It was nearly impossible to hold her head against my chest, a chest absolutely bursting with joy in that moment, and not break down into sobs as thoughts of two other daughters missing their mother flooded my mind.

It’s all mixed up right now.

The laughter and the joy and the gratitude, swirling around with the guilt and the pain and the sorrow. The knowledge that I have no right to this pain, to any pain, really, when theirs is so, so much more. The memory of her pleading with me to make her laugh, to live fully, to let go of old grudges – telling me to remember her, to honor her, by squeezing what I can from my own life.

So, yes, to those of you who’ve asked, there really was an $800 bill. And we threw a five alarm fit because a) we were hawked a half of menu and then presented a full price bill and b) the specials and off menu items cost more than double the similar items on the menu.

But beyond that, I can’t say or write anything clearly right now.

As Lisa would say, it is what it is.

Lisa, my friend, you are loved.


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