on love, loss and being a million stupid miles away

I don’t know how to write about what I’m about to write about, but I also know I can’t write about anything else until I do.

So.

Let me tell you about Kellie. She was the best of the best. One of my dearest. The kindest soul, the most loving heart. She was nothing but my very favorite adjectives. Kind, thoughtful, generous, beautiful, smart, funny, amazing, Kellie. She was a world traveler, a doctor, she was a rock star and, as fate would have it, she was dating a rock star. Literally. But. She also had cancer. Four-and-half years ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer. These two words were heartbreaking. To us, to her, to everything she had worked so hard to get. She vowed to beat it and on those days when she didn’t feel like it, we reminded her she could. And she did. She beat the bananas out of it. 

And then I moved out of the country. 

Shortly thereafter it came back. The cancer. In all the wrong places -- as if there are any right places. It was devastating. To us, to her, to everything she had worked so hard to get back.  And to me. Because I was now so far away, I couldn’t participate in the day to day. I couldn’t rub her feet. I couldn’t bring her dinner.  I couldn’t physically be there for her as I had before. Many others thankfully were.

The second diagnosis was a terrible blow, but she found the courage and strength to face it. She was determined to beat this life interrupter one more time. And on those days when she didn’t feel like it, we reminded her -- me through email, texts and Skype -- that she did it before and she could do it again. She would do it again. And for a while, she was. She was beating the bananas out of it.The lung cancer disappeared. The brain cancer was getting smaller. The clinical trial was a miracle. She was a miracle. She saw God. 

And then. A month or so ago. I don’t know why. It all stopped working. The clinical trial. The miracle. I prayed to God. He felt very far away. I felt further.

Kellie died on December 14^th.  She was hardly forty. She was the best of the best. One of my dearest. I will mourn her forever and celebrate her always. She was nothing but my very favorite adjectives, and she always will be.  

And it is because of Kellie that I will be moving back to the country one day. There was a moment, the day of the Newtown shootings, that I thought I wouldn't. That I couldn't. Hours later, on the same horrible day, I learned about my sweet friend and I knew I definitely would.

I don't know what it's like to lose a close friend when you're right next to them. But I do know it's profoundly and unbearably painful to lose one when you're not. The inevitability of life is death, and I want to be there for it all.  

The last text Kellie sent me was a week before her death. “Hi, beautiful girl!!!!!!” Three words, six exclams, all love. That was Kellie.  

So.  

I miss you, beautiful girl!!!!!!

I so very much do.  

One of our many birthdays we were so lucky to celebrate together.
Kel is the beautiful smile in the upper right corner.

a pilgrim is a doe

You can take the child out of Thanksgiving but you can't take Thanksgiving out of the child, is not a saying.  And nor should it be.  

The last time my five-year old celebrated Thanksgiving in America he was two.  He had some turkey.  Ate a slice of pie.  Watched Charlie Brown and his on-again off-again Peppermint Patty dramatically explain the meaning of the holiday before Christmas.  

He has no memory of this or anything remotely like this whatsoever.  

My children are being educated abroad.  I always thought that was a good thing.  They’d learn about different cultures, see the world, grow up with tolerance.  I didn't really give much thought to what they weren't learning.  

Until yesterday.

It was Thanksgiving here.  Even though the date label up there says it is today.  It's not. Yesterday.  Thursday.  Thanksgiving.  Which I only remembered was happening on Wednesday. So.  After morning band practice, a full day of school, one birthday party, swim lessons, endless homework and shopping for a new mattress, we threw together an instant just-add-water holiday dinner starring a store-bought roasted chicken.  The locals were begging for an invite.  But it was just us. 

And this conversation I had with Charlie.  

Charlie Gray.

Me:  Do you know what Thanksgiving is?

Charlie:  You give your own food to old people-- no, I mean, you give things to lonely kids that don't have anything.

Me:  Do you know what day it is?

Charlie:  No.

Me:  It's today.  

Charlie:  No it's not.

Me:  Do you know who Christopher Columbus is?

Charlie:  Is he a famous person?

Me:  Yes.

Charlie:  Is he a lonely people?

Me:  Do you know where the United States is?

Charlie:  Yes.  In the United States.

Me:  What about the Mayflower?

Charlie:  I don't know what that is.

Me:  It was a ship.

Charlie:  Does it have missiles?

Me:  No, it was an old ship.

Charlie:  So no missiles.  

Me:  What are Native American Indians?

Charlie:  People who live in the jungle.

Me:  What is a pilgrim?

Charlie:  A doe.

Me:  Like a deer?

Charlie:  Yes.

Me:  What do people eat at Thanksgiving?

Charlie:  Giving leaves.

Me:  Do you know what a turkey is?

Charlie:  It's a chicken.

Me:  Do you like pie?

Charlie:  No, only my friends do.

Me:  What's your friend's favorite pie?

Charlie:  Lemon.  

Me:  What are you most thankful for?

Charlie:  Max-- no, I mean, lonely kids.  I thank you for lonely kids.  

Me:  Do you know any lonely kids?

Charlie:  No.  

Me:  Do you know who Charlie Brown is?

Charlie:  Yes.

Me:  Who?

Charlie:  Me.

the two-year rebuttal by meg mason

Last month I made a list.  Of all the many wonderful things I miss about home and Los Angeles in the two years since I've been away.  I called it What I Miss.

This week she made a list to my list.

She:  Meg Mason.

Meg Mason is a journalist, an author, a wife, a mother, the one who drinks coffee with me on milk crates outside of Bertonis almost every day.  She lives in a small house, lets me read all of her books, has two daughters the exact same age as my two sons, always wears a onesie, and hates having her picture taken.  We write together on Tuesdays.  When we don't forget.  I make her cookies.  She makes me laugh.    

This is Meg's first book.

This is Meg's only back. 

And this is Meg's guest post.

* * * * * 

You have been here, with me, sitting on a milk crate at Bertonis for nine months now so...

My sister wives.  My besties.  My friends.  So much.
Nikki, Sally, Other Meg, Andria and I are yet to decide how we feel about this.  John the barista is taking it hard though.  

My family.
They came with you!  Max?  The little guy?  I've seen them!

Mom.
We have moms here.

Having a babysitter.
Oh, hi.

Having another baby.
You could have had one by now - it's been nine months.

Watching the babies of my friends turn into people.
Do not let Daphne Mason (age 6) read this.  After every cute thing she's done for you?

Watching Barbara Walter’s 10 Most Fascinating People.
The Kardashians were on the 2011 list.  The Kardashians.

Nora Ephron.
Do you want to borrow Heartburn?

Oprah.
Gail.  (Are we free-associating?)

O Magazine at a reasonable price.
Suddenly $18.95 for a magazine that is three months out of date and in opposite seasons isn't "reasonable"?

Domino.  Still.
We all feel like that.  I can set you up with some Cookies from '08 though.  They are $18.95.  Each.

Target.  The one on Jefferson.
Target.  The one in Broadway.

Trader Joe’s.  All of them.
I don't know this Joe, double air quotes, or what he is trading, double air quotes, with whom, but... alarm bells, is all.

Veggie sausage patties.
Veggie what?  It's sausage but it's veggie?  Nope.  Not real.

Saying tomato without thinking “tomayto/tomahto” in my head.
It's tomarto, but we know what you mean.  And we like it that you try.

Saying I’ll be home in one to two years.
I told you to be home by 11.

Knowing when I will be home.
Not a minute after.

Not the 405.
One day you will not miss Victoria Road.

Having a drive on.
I don't know what this is but walking is better.

HBO.
Read a book.

Hulu.
Read a book.

Tivo.
Read a book.

My writers’ group.
Write a book.  With me.

Beth Stine.
She sounds nice.

New release movies.
God is teaching you patience.

The fall TV season.
God is teaching you missing out.

Having Christmas in winter.
God's birthday is in summer.

Being hot in July.
November until March, all hot.

The fourth of July.
Fireworks?  Wait until New Years.  Ka-pow.

Fahrenheit.
Makes no sense.  I've checked.

Miles, feet, and inches.
Google conversions.

Knowing how much my children weigh when the doctor asks me.
Tell him, Google conversions.

Having my blood pressure taken when I go to the doctor.
Come over at 3.  I have some time.

Nestle Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies.
You need to lose this one.  That recipe with those Cadbury's sweet and semi-sweet chips you found, edible happiness.

Crest toothpaste.
I'm getting tired.

Garbage disposals.
Bad for the earth.

Being one day younger.
That happens everywhere.

Dr. Harry Saperstein.
He actually sounds awesome.  Is he played by Billy Crystal?  Genuine question.

The 40^th birthday parties.
Give me five years!

The life events.
I'll have another baby.  You'll be my doulah.

The everyday moments between the parties and the events.
Bertonis.  Milk crates.  Every.  Day.

Bacon.
Come on!  We have bacon here.  You are scaring the people.