So, yeah, that’s life ...

My step-mom died suddenly.

I totally wasn’t expecting it, I mean, shit, summer was just starting and I’d lived through that whole awful, shitty Oregon winter where it did nothing but rain and snow and freeze and fucking piss me off with every day darker and colder than the one before it.

In April, in the midst of yet another deluge, as I watched my yard flood deeper and deeper, and my grass look sad because it was too cold and dark out for it to take advantage of the spring rains and grow, I called Frannie at her place in sunny Florida and I was all, like, “Hey, Frannie, ’sup? How’s the dying going?” and she was all like, “Oh, it’s good. I start a new treatment in August that will most likely kill me. I got a bunch of gluten-free chocolate-covered pretzels on sale at Publix – I love those pretzels! - and the Warriors had a great season – that Steph Curry, he’s so cuuute - and that Muslim is out of office finally, so yeah, I’m good.” “That’s cool,” I replied, ignoring everything she said because I don’t do politics, really, really not my thing. Neither is basketball, but this is the shit people have to deal with when they have parents and people that they love.

“So,” I continued as I stood at my front window and watched the newly formed twin rivers rush over the full drains and along the gutters in the street, “you want some company while you slip into the next life?”

Disappointingly, she said, no doubt staring at the bright sun and the colorful flowers from her own window, “Nah, I’m all good here. You know how I like my privacy,” and then she launched into some political thing that I didn’t understand that then segued into ramblings about the drugs she was on and the chemo and the August trial she was participating in at the uni that might save her life which we both knew wouldn’t because she was definitely terminal and besides, she missed my dad and she’d been excited about dying since, like, the day I met her over forty years ago and in truth, she was pretty fucking stoked about kicking off.

So I got off the phone, and I sighed at the rain and hated my life and wondered what the fuck I was doing and how was I going to just get the hell out of the misery I’d created for myself and then sat down to binge-watch “Orange is the New Black” since I hadn’t seen it since its first season and it was so stupid-gross outside even the native Oregonians weren’t going out.

Eventually, the rain stopped and the sun came out. We all thought it would turn scorching hot because hell, after a never-ending shit-ass winter like that, a ridiculously hot summer was sure to follow, but it didn’t. It hit 80 and then just sort of hung out there. There were a few foggy mornings and a few 85-90 degree days, but from the end of June on, it was just one gorgeous day after another and I settled back into a reasonable life.

I got a great schedule at work, the boyfriend and I started making plans to get some projects done; a pregnant stray adopted us and after my initial wtf? because it makes me bat-shit crazy that people let their animals get preggers when the shelters are full and millions of animals die daily, I was pretty stoked about the kittens because baby anything is pretty fucking adorable. And then there was the fair and the Scandi-fest was coming up – corn dogs! and the river was pretty and the sun was bright and our gardens were growing and then Frannie called and was all like, “So, yeah, when are you coming to stay?”

And I’m all, like, to myself, August in Florida? Fucking-A. Goddammit … life just emerged and now I have to leave it and go sweat and be disgusting among mosquitoes and force-watch Fox News 24/7 until football starts while Frannie talks about “that Muslim” because she loves that narrative and just can’t give it up and … fuck.

Plus, did I mention I had about $80 to my name and not much coming in because my stupid-expensive master’s degree nets me a salary that pays less than minimum wage even though I work in my field and I had no idea how I was going to live while I was down there because Frannie expected me to rent a place … seriously … she loves her privacy that much, and okay, so do I, so I got it, but still … how the fuck was I going to make this work and within two weeks?

But I started to plan, and I talked to my sister who ponied up miles, happy she wasn’t the one who had to go, and to my boss who unhappily let me use my sick leave and take advantage of the FMLA while I telecommuted, and I called my credit card who loves me even though my credit still sucks from grad school and they gave me more credit so I could buy fucking food while I’m there, not that I couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds, and I reconciled myself to missing the birth of the kittens and my bed and the sunshine and beautiful 80 days that I totally felt I’d earned after that depressing, cold, dark, snowy fuck-me-hard winter and I began packing and arguing with the boyfriend about whether he should drive me or I should take a shuttle to Portland because my sister doesn’t get how far away Portland is and thinks our airport is podunk, and she’s not wrong, but we DO have good flights out of it but the ticket was bought and so fine, I’ll spend a hunk of my meager bucks on the fucking shuttle and my mom was fussing at me, “Why do YOU have to go, why not your sister?” and I really, really wanted to say “Because you and Daddy set it up that I’m the eldest and it – along with everyfuckingthing else in life - is my responsibility and you can’t yank that shit away from me now,” but didn’t because it would hurt her feelings and in the end, I’m a decent daughter and then … Frannie died.

I still had to go … executor and all that … but, yeah.