in which i say a reluctant goodbye
After spending a weekend doing improv in the woods, I returned to cell phone range yesterday to discover alerts that my friend Turquoise had taken a turn for the worse. I went straight to her bedside and told her everything I needed to tell her, not the least of which was all my anxiety about picking an outfit for an important event I was going to, and bemoaning all the crappy music in the world — topics that were popular in all our many conversations over the years. I may have had to fill in her side of the conversation this time, but I know she would’ve told me to calm down about the outfit anxiety, and to shake her head yes, the current state of music does indeed suck.
Then she died this morning at dawn. And I’m reminded, yet again, that all the emotional preparation, all those dress rehearsals, do absolutely nothing to soften that gut-wrenching, heart-tearing impact when the news comes. Her long, slow slide down from cancer made me feel like I could try to get to an acceptance stage more gracefully, that I would feel more ready for the end. But no, it feels as grotesque and unfair as it did the day she shared with us her diagnosis. In fact, it became fucking unreally unfair and bizarre as I realized this wasn’t going to stop, or get better, or go away.
At improv camp, a great teacher named David Razowsky talked about being in the now, focusing on the spaces between actions and thoughts, and letting go. He said that he appreciated the experience of once having a cast on his broken foot. It made every physical action slow and meditative and made with absolute presence and intention. I remarked to him that emotional injury, like grief, can get you to a similar state — you only have enough time, energy and will to get to Point A to Point B, without any extraneous thoughts or conflicts. And that there’s a beauty to that; you can really feel close to the purest concept of life.
And so here I am in my beautiful grief. I am not wearing it well right just now, even though Turquoise would say nonsense, you look lovely.
Thanks for that, dear girl. And thank for you letting me be in your orbit, you sweet, complex, charismatic and beautiful star.
- Read about how we met here (note: her nom de plume was Violet)
I am so glad you could see her on her last day and deliver that final conversation. She needed that kind of send-off that only her wonderful friend could provide. I for sure remember your post about how you met and how crazy fated it seemed or further proof of life’s mysterious finangling. You were there for her from the beginning and you did not ever let go. She is with you now and always. The first song I heard today was: She’s a Beauty by the Tube. I like to believe it was a message from her.
I love you like crazy.
To go to work at my new job today and talk to my only real friend I have made there and have her reply to me “I know her!” …oh it seemed like that was the way fate had planned it.
It seems that is the way Turq would have planned it. And that she would be tickled by the connection and by the fact that when I needed someone to understand what I was feeling today, someone was there….someone who knew exactly what I was feeling.
I am forever going to miss Turquoise and I thank you Becky for introducing us to this wonderful and special lady.
I’m so thankful Turquoise thought it was important that all the B-town chicks meet. I know that I’ll be friends with you all forever, and I know Turq planned it that way.
I miss her so much.
Heartbreaking is the right term. The whole thing– the diagnosis, the unbelievability, the fight, the fight, the unbelievability, the dying, the being gone, and for those who remain, the missing. It’s horrible. Turquoise was lucky to have you as a friend, and so am I. Serendipitous friendships, both! I’m really glad I got to meet her and hear her powerful voice. “Take another little piece of my heart out, baby.”
My heart goes out to you and everyone who loves her. She was a singularly vibrant individual, and she left the party too soon. I really enjoyed the too few times I hung out with her… the world is a better place for having had her in it. I am sad.
Never having officially met her, she always seemed to me like one of those kids too cool to ever hang with me. Yet, through her colorful, eloquent, tell-it-like-it-is writing, I know she would have pishawed any such notion.
Such is the power of true stars. They illuminate and influence people without even knowing or trying.
YOU are like that, too, I hope you know.
I’m grateful to the universe for giving you that final physical time with her. From the marathon reading I did of her blog since hearing the news this morning, I could tell that you were EXACTLY the friend… the energy… she needed in her final hours.
Finally, I could not help but be struck by the fact that her final blog post is entitled, “In which I am calmer”. Also striking: she signed off, demanding that everyone sing “I Feel Love” by Donna Summer. Donna Summer passed away 13 days later.
Ahead of the curve, that one.
Love to you, B.
Beautiful. And sad. Xo
GODDAMMIT CANCER.