My cousin Luranna is dying. She is 42.
This post isn't about Luranna. It should be, but I'm not ready for that yet. Which is stupid, really, because she would have the opportunity to read it if I were to write it now. Before she dies. Shit!
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT! AND GODDAMMIT ALL TO HELL ANYWAY!
Sorry. I am apparently at Griefcon 4. If you are unfamiliar with the five stages of grief, they are: denial, cussing, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I would not say I was especially close to Luranna. We did, however, play together at my grandmother's house when we were kids. Does anyone go to grandma's on the weekend anymore? I don't mean just your nuclear family visiting grandma on holidays and maybe a random weekend here and there. I mean all of grandma's children descending upon her every weekend for the entire summer with all of their own children in tow, plus a few random friends thrown in for good measure.
It was chaos. God I miss it.
At the time, though, I hated going to grandma's. What self-respecting kid wants to spend her weekends hanging out with her cousins? But we had no choice, so Luranna, Tootie, and I palled around because we were all in the same grade. (What? The names? How about these: Livie, Flora, Anabelle, and Lottie. All close relatives. I kid you not.)
We were Reedley's equivalent of the South Park kids, the three of us. Tootie's sister Lisa rounded out the group as the unofficial Kenny, the kid who dies in spectacular fashion every South Park episode only to show up the next week as if it never happened. We didn't actually kill Lisa every weekend back then, but I'm pretty sure we tried. She was a whole year younger, after all. It wouldn't have been right to just accept her unconditionally.
I wish I had more Luranna stories to share but I don't remember much from back then. Nothing specific, anyway. We ran wild. Grandma was a tyrant. Our older cousins tormented us, just as we tormented Lisa. The usual family stuff.
I reconnected with Luranna last year at the funeral of our cousin Tricia, who died of breast cancer at 47. I had not seen Luranna for almost twenty years. During that time, I forgot what a fun, cherubic personality she is. And now, as she lies at home under the watchful care of a Hospice nurse, I hear she is reaching out to heal old rifts and mend broken relationships. When I asked her about that, she said she feels it is important to make amends before she dies.
I guess this post is about Luranna after all.
* * *
Okay, motherfucker! Goddam Cancer I am talking to YOU. You are a huge asshole. If anyone has to die it should be you, you slimy son of a bitch. All forms of you. One day, just...pffft! Gone. The world would be such a better place.
Asshole.
