She is NOT dying ... yet!

I will not lie and say this was the best Christmas ever. I will not claim I've never had more fun for New Year's Eve. But I will let out a HEARTY HALLELUJAH, for I have never felt this grateful to simply hang out with "old ladies."

Despite her fourth fight with cancers in this lifetime, my mother still lives! Moreover, my sweetheart's mother (Lucinda), finally moved the 300 miles here, and she is almost a neighbor! On top of that, despite the unending goddamned pandemic, our Spokane Symphony played Beethoven's 9th ("Ode To Joy") at the Fox Theatre again for New Year's Eve! I don't care how cold it was, it was wonderful to walk to the Davenport Hotel afterwards for holiday splendor and delightful refreshments.

How cold was it? By midnight, Spokane was about 9 degrees. 9 degrees F, not C. Also known cheerfully (in places like Minnesota or North Dakota) as "23 below freezing, but not below zero!". Similarly, people in Denmark, Norway, or the Arctic would say, "negative 13 degrees, Celsius". Worldwide, anyone in every other country of this lovely Earth, would agree.

Basically, Spokane in winter can sometimes be REALLY QUITE COLD. The kind of cold to justify wearing heirloom furs, vintage kid leather, opera-length gloves, and tall boots with formal dresses. It can be delightful for a night or two, but truly dreary beyond that. To me, this night could have been midsummer, for I was practically floating along, warmed from within by incredible good fortune. My temperate, internal Puget Sound climate was in total denial of the ice, snow, and frostbiting wind.

Was it only a few short months ago that I hurried my mom to the ER? No, I did that AGAIN, just a few short weeks ago. Did her leukemia go into remission miraculously? No, but by stopping treatment, it seems she won't have to FEEL like she is dying yet. Did Lucinda -- my un-mother-in-law, with all due respect! -- get eased of her crippling autoimmune disorder? No, but she is OK if we shuffle along no further than a city block. Shuffling quickly, that is.

I gladly, happily, gratefully and with great joy have spent the holidays this winter with these two incredible women. I know too well that every day is a gift. I know this so clearly now ... and I also know that it will not last forever, in fact maybe this blessed reprieve might last only a few months. I also have begun to feel like I can handle the inevitable, and potentially imminent event.

Among the emotional things spilling from the cup that is my heart: accept with grace that I really am losing one, and gracefully be open to gaining the other. There are no replacements of people, but perhaps there can be additional supplements? An extra? It was easier when I added my extra dad, but then again, that was decades before my father died. This experience is far too sudden to compare.

Who are these women, these crones, these wrinking and greying examples of why "beautiful" is NOT synonymous with "youthful"? My mother is my hero, my primary mentor AND cheerleader. My un-mother-in-law has become my inspirational friend and occasional advisor. The two of them act like the best of sisters, and together they are a force! It is delightful to see them have fun and just be ... happy, like I remember it was to be friends as girls. 9 or 10 years old. Will my life allow for such friendships again? It occurs to me that I miss my galpals, my goyles, and our adventures in "whiskey, women, and whining"!

Maybe not the whiskey and whining so much. Mostly, the women themselves, their fabulous selves. This raw emotion of missing, an emotion I actively suppress, I realize might be temporary. I realize there is going to be a future me with my friends, and we will be old friends together, like this!

This is such a comforting thought. It seems that I have been tense and nervous about age and separation from women friends. Relaxing, I listen closely to hilarious, heartbreaking, and profound tales. Two amazing lives of hard work, children, ex-husbands, love lost, and love that has lasted despite everything. Two lives that finally enjoy some well-deserved comfort, the fruits of their labors. It is like an encore, like orchestral music again, this passionate back and forth across a lavish and splendid table. I realize the grit, faith, and strength of these pioneering female spirits, and I hope to hang on to this feeling somehow, to share someday with girls who haven't even been born yet.

Our conversation grazes at any and all topics. We are a smorgasbord of subjects with few boundaries. Still, I feel surprise that despite appearing so homogenous (after all, we ARE white, working-class but college educated, adult women from the United States), we do not often agree much on politics, or religion, or favorite theories of socioeconomics. Thus, discussions related to class, social status, racism, and even what I consider facts of history are approached very carefully between us. Patiently. there is more than enough mutual love and respect to overcome our differences. The relationships we have together are vastly more valuable than being right or "winning" any argument.

There is so much more to learn, so much I want shared with "the mothers and me"! There is so little, finite time, even if we have years instead of weeks or months. I feel the rush of golden gratitude for every additional moment, every minute soothed by the graceful breeze of angel's wings, stirring my heart and soul. Really and truly, it is indeed a happy new year!