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Tuesday, July 5, 2016

A Note to the Recently Departed

Cat Magnet Man
Kid Magnet Man
There are so many things I want to say to you.

There's a grief-shaped crater of Chesapeake Bay proportions, in your place.

Upon your stage left exit, my immediate reaction was, naturally, most colorful with a Khan-esque NOOOOOOOOOOOO! You woulda loved it – très dramatic. As Jen put it "very Italian." See? You missed a good show.

Our delicate kitten, Coco, is having a hard time with all the, bang, bang, bang of the fireworks. The two of you should be ensconced in your study with Louis blaring, just like every year.

Miles, Bethanie, Oni, Jen, Celeste and I were with you throughout the day – all taking turns holding onto you. Jen and I actually arroved at midnight after a call from the docs. At the very last, your hand was in mine, as it had been all day, Jen and Celeste were at your sides. Could you feel us? Did you hear me telling you that I love you, you're doing a great job and it's OK to let go?

TAB and newborn Olivia
Yes, I was fibbing when I agreed to fetch your slippers and told you that, yes, we'd go home after you had just one more round of meds, that we'd pick up chicken parm subs from Sparkle Boys and lemon tarts at Saint Fratelli's on the way home. We'd sit on the porch with Jen and Oni, listen to the game, snarf and watch the color of the water shift as the sun moved across the sky.

I'm sorry and I'm not. You were so far off in pain and illness induced La La Land. You were thinking, every five minutes, that we could get up and leave. You were certain that there was a batter, just across the room, who really needed to swing at that damn pitch. You were convinced that we were rudely holding back the soda and cake. (FYI – I would NEVER have kept you away from your half moons and strawberry ginger ale – it was those damn medics!)

Fully unaware that you were hours from full system collapse, spinning out fantasies seemed a lot more right than speaking reality. See? I can so be nice.

You would've enjoyed my pronouncement at the last Family Meeting after Miles and I made the call re: yur continued existence. Faced with your immense pain, mondo agitata, horrible confusion and nasty ass, dire health projections, we decided enough was enough. Alive but in gross discomfort and unhappiness was a nonstarter — it was time to let you go. Fighting to keep a Mississippi's worth of tears at bay, I said to the team of docs — I want you to morphine the shit outta him. I want him to float down Bliss River without fear, pain or any discomfort. Boom, let's do this thing now!

And they did.

As you drifted down that Feel Good  med stream, I wonder if you heard me telling you what a good job you were doing at this battle with yur bod. Did you hear me say that I love you madly, that I need you badly? Did you hear me tell you that you did an incredible job both in raising Miles and in being my wondrous, supportive, loving and brilliant life partner. It's because of you that I'm in any way at any time mellow. My sense of humor is all your doing. If I'm at all unpretentious in my writing, it's due to your fab advice. You showed me that it's ok to be me — that I could be me AND be loved for, not despite, that.

You were my world.

It's raining here in Valhalla today and that feels tremendously appropriate.


  1. What a love story! I know he lives in your heart Donna❤️❤️❤️

  2. Nice send off. I'm sorry you have to go through this.


  3. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine your pain. This is a beautiful and loving tribute.

  4. Thank you. I'm still gobsmacked and reeling. Of course. TAB was a fucking god!