Talking to a Ghost

Unknowingly the day after you died, I sent you a text message wishing you luck on the LSAT.

I now realize that I was talking to a ghost.

This morning I woke up wanting to punch the universe in the face over and over and over again until it shouted back in submission, “Okay, okay! Enough! You can have him back!”

While I fight the urge to face the truth that this will never happen with anguish and uncertainty, I muster up the best in myself, tapping into that subterranean well that lies within all of us, and embrace it with the warmth and authenticity you approached your life with every day and remember you.

You.

My friend.

It hurts, but I slip loose the knots of the unthinkable and begin to remember you, though it’s a challenge because for me, you are still not gone.

And though you would be embarrassed to read this, you would never say.

Taking a page out of the book of jwc, I’ll do it anyway.

You always made me smile. Those remarkable blue eyes and snarky laugh. Your love of talking about Hesse, Vonnegut, and Salinger into the long hours of the night, ignoring my yawns and lazy responses. Your heartbreakingly honest confessions of a deep regret for past mistakes. The way you always gave my boyfriends unsavory nicknames and scoffed at my attempts to defend their honor. Your insatiable love of bucking tradition and blazing your own rebellious trail. The practical jokes. Your knack for passing out at the most inopportune moments. How you never forgot to ask about my parents, even across the distance of continents and the passing of months, years. Similarly, how time always managed to stand still for us until the next time we saw each other, picking up right where we left off, never missing a beat. A true rarity in friendships these days. I remember the impressive depths of your mind and staggering intelligence and how easy the sharing of profound thoughts was with you. I don't know if that type of comfortability came along simply with the sheer number of years I have known you (23 years to be exact), or if it was just always you. I think the latter. Because I like to think you served this purpose for many people. I was always Megs, not Megan, or Meg. You always called. “Clear your calendar” you would say, and nothing else. Leaving the details of your visits a mystery until I would hear your familiar voice on the other end of the phone telling me to “Save you a bar stool”. How you had this consistent lack of direction in life, but were always so unabashed about admitting it. It was endearing. And you were charming. Parents loved you. Teachers didn’t know what to do with you. You were silly and quick-witted; the biggest smartass I know. In friendships you were not fastidious, preferring to scatter your companionship out to every kind of person, but save the good stuff for a few. You fought wars and claimed conservatism, but you were a hippie at heart. You were a hero. And a patriot. I always hated arguing with you because you had this unbelievable knack for being right that only really, really gifted people possess. You were clever. You were authentic. You were an original. You were a good friend. You were my friend.

A few weeks before you passed, we spent one crazy night in Chicago together. Speeding through downtown streets, up until dawn, smoking cigarettes and laughing off old high school memories. We talked briefly about “over there”, but I know you preferred to speak less about the past and more about the future. I didn’t press you, but you said, “One day you’ll write it for me.”

You always supported my writing. So now I’m writing this for you.

Its unfair and I’m sad and angry and confused and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with knowing I will never see you again, but I will never forget you. I know that. And I will never let anyone else forget you. And by writing this, I honor the memory of you.

I will be kinder to strangers. Better to myself. More honest in my relationships. Stronger in my convictions. I will write more. And write better. I will do this moving forward because the only way I know how to honor you is to be a better me. And I’ll always be grateful when I wake up in the morning and know that that first smile that hides inside the pockets of each day belongs to you.

And tomorrow, when I throw my arms around the memory of you, I will never stop holding tight. And I promise you, I won’t weep for your death, but I will celebrate your life.

I will always, always love you.

Justin Wesley Cloe
August 2, 1980 – June 5, 2010

What if...

Eleanor and I would have spent Friday night actually being productive?

The end of an era.

In less than a week I will enter into the world of single livingship. After having to share living quarters for 28 years (keep in mind, I didn't even get to be alone in the womb!) it's about time.

My current roomie and I have had some great times. There was this night. And our oh so lovely relationships with our many property managers. But we got by, even prospered.

So I just wanted to give a shout out to one of my best friends who has shared the good times and bad times with me for the last three years. There will always be a seat at my table, always a spot on my couch, always a second glass to be poured. Thanks for the memories.



Let's go make some more!

Lake House Weekend 2008

We do it every year.

Here are some of my favorite moments captured on camera from this weekend.



Thanks to Pete for catching all of them on film.

Let's catch up.

I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am a woman of my word so here I am. I think you deserve a massive update.

Last night I was in the suburbs taking care of these two little monsters.



It really made me realize how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family. Sure half the time we're dysfunctional and insane, but whose family isn't? I've shared a fantastic childhood, rich with family history and tradition. I have unbelievable Aunts and Uncles who spoiled us rotten when we were growing up. Thanks to them I know my heritage and recognize where I come from. Thanks to them my niece and nephew will never have to know anything but an outpouring of unconditional love and a genuine desire to be a part of their lives. To know who they are now and a wish to see who they become.

As I've mentioned before, I don't know if a family of my own is in the cards for me, but with the one I've already got, I'll never long for more.

I know you can't choose your family, and I'm okay with that because I am lucky enough to have gotten stuck with mine.



I think about that a lot. Life would be a lot easier if you could choose who you love. Think about it. Instead of that sneaking, slow growing, smack you upside your head moment, it would be something you could control. Something that was accessible and convenient for you. What if we could pick out who we love from a line-up, like they do to perps in jail. Instead of holding up criminal numbers, they would hold up something like, "Is nice to his mom", or "Cries a lot" or "Will only break your heart". Imagine the possibilities.

I was just talking the other day with my friend Jackie about the roles different people play in our lives.

Laura is like a warm cup of tea on a cold afternoon, she just makes me feel at ease and comfortable. Laura knows the best and the worst of me and still loves me. She is my mama bear, always going to bat for me without even having to ask for her help.

Katie is a fiercely loyal friend. She's the one you call when you're all dressed up on a Friday night and your date never shows up. Even if she has been sleeping for hours, she will without hesitation, show up at your door when you need her.

Eleanor lets me be myself more than anyone, a true gift. She knows the words in my heart even when I don't speak them. She is endlessly generous and has shown me moments of kindness that inspire me to be a better person.

Ryan is my magic wand. He makes everyone else disappear. He's the hand that holds my own. He brought commitment to me, shoved it's rearing, ugly face into mine and said, "Don't run."

Dianka is a laugh just when I need it the most and brings excitement into my life. She is authentic and genuine and has taught me never to judge a book by its cover.

Dave is a kindred spirit, he understands things unsaid. He inspires me to have faith in other people and to never give up on true love.

Mel is my wise seer, someone who radiates strength into all she is around. Out of everyone, her words calm me the most. She is the most compassionate person I have ever met without a doubt. When she says "My heart aches for you, Meg" she truly means it.

Shannon is stability and honesty and always gives a genuine and warm hug.

Jess is my home away from home, even at 4,000 miles away. She gets it. She always has.

Donnelly makes me a better friend, effortlessly. Her friendship is as delightful as it is easy, a rare find. With her, there is no judgement, just unconditional love. And more importantly, unconditional fun.

Jill, Caroline and Jackie are my surrogate sisters, always hard at work, helping sort through the drama of my life and keeping me sane day to day. They are the rock I stand on to see above the waves.

And Kate, Kate is the other half of me. We still communicate in a language without words. We still have a relationship no one else can touch. She's the blood and I'm the heart. One doesn't work without the other.

All of these people help fill the holes in the respective puzzle of me, but there are little corners unoccupied even still. I feel like there are always spots left open, waiting, like a reserved parking space in a garage, left warm from the last car that it inhabited.

It would just be easier to choose who you love. Though I doubt it could be better.



Thank you, friends.

Happy Thanksgiving!

More pics here.

The oath of friendship.

I'm sure my roommate loves it every month around that time when I walk into the bathroom and then five minutes later I shout, "Woo hoo! Not pregnant!" It's kind of our little ritual.