|
|
Side |
|
|
Return to Current IPS Features
|
When I grow up, I want to be just like Kathy. Kathy has been my friend for a very long time. Shortly after we moved here nearly 10 years ago, Kathy and I found ourselves in a makeshift Sunday school room. The church, which had united us, was just in the fledgling stages of being formed. We were meeting each week at the local high school, and our numbers were few. We clicked right from the beginning. I think that the first time she cracked one of her not entirely appropriate, but scathingly witty jokes I knew we’d be friends. She was just the kind of wisecracking chick I was! We laughed at each other’s jokes (sometimes we were the only ones laughing) and traveled to and from each other’s homes for dinner. We became family. I always knew she was great. I just didn’t realize HOW great. Until the day Carrick had his accident and I was waiting to hear if he would live or not. There was only one person I could call. Kathy reassured me while she could, and then comforted me when she no longer could offer hope. She drove my husband and I to the funeral home, and did not offer meaningless hopeful chatter when our hearts were busted in our chest. She camped out at our house, groomed our dog, cleaned the carpets, and brought food, liquor, whatever we needed. She disappeared when we needed space, and offered company when we could not bear the silence. Kathy is an amazing person. When she found out she had breast cancer a few months ago, she didn’t tell me at first. She mistakenly took my “hiding from life on my bike” philosophy, as “I am too busy for you.” Naturally, both my husband and I were devastated. Cancer is a scary disease. Both of us had lost our fathers far too soon from the disease, were crushed to hear that the dread “C” had invaded Kathy. Kathy, being Kathy, took on cancer with her usual aplomb. Just moments after her surgeries (and yes, there were more than one), she was offering her own sarcastic take on the ordeal and doing it with her usual acerbic wit. “I think you are going to be okay.” I told her recently, when she had offered up a particularly humorous account of her search for a new job (oh yeah, she was laid off from her job, unrelated to her cancer, shortly after being diagnosed) wearing, as she put it, “a damn ‘do rag.” “Why, do you ask, am I wearing a damn ‘do rag?” She practiced on me, as to her potential future employer, “Well, funny you should ask….” “I am amazed that you can keep your sense of humor.” I applauded her. “I think that is a good sign.” I cannot remember how she answered that comment, only that I felt a deep peace about her well being and again stood in awe at Kathy’s ability to be, well, such an amazing grown-up. Kathy is just one super amazing chick. I am proud to know her. And when I grow up, (if)…. I want to be just like Kathy.
|
