This is a post for Annie. Or rather, it’s for her mother Val- her kind, thoughtful, amazing soul of a human being mother. Can it be for both? Let’s make it for both.
Annie has been one of my best friends since 2002, since I moved to Chicago and promptly realized that I had no friends, a barely tolerable serving job, and only the faintest glimmer of actual theatrical work on the horizon. And after I met Annie at a bar night for a theatre group (and decided that we were artistically, socially, and drinkily compatible), I promptly friend-stalked her for the next 11 years.
And she let me. Of course she let me. Because not only is she a sweetheart of a pal, but she’s also British. They’re not big on public scenes or rudeness.
Over the years, we’ve done all sorts of friend-type things together; place toothbrushes in our apartments for each other (in case it gets way too late to take the train back home/there are four more Sex & the City episodes left on this disc), cheer each other on in bizarre performances/raucous cabaret drag shows, and get stuck in the backseat of a smallish car for an eleventy gazillion hour drive to New Orleans while losing our minds with laughter at things that ceased being funny two hours ago, seriously-you-guys-she’s-banging-her-head-against-the-window-can-we-please-stop-the-car-for-a-sec.
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| No, for real. Stop the car. |
And a few years ago Annie got married and I got to a) wear an awesome dress in her wedding, and b) finally hug the woman who gave life to this hilariously fun/marvelously polite girl- Annie’s mother Val.
Her mother is one of those women who just hug like a Mom should hug, you know? The kind where you almost want to weep, because you feel like even though you didn’t confess anything, she’s already forgiven you. And made a snack. That Annie’s Mom Val. And if I felt honored to be hanging around her for that week, I can only begin to imagine the impact she’s made on folks she’s known and loved for decades.
Here’s the thing, though: Val is really sick. She’s been battling bone cancer for years. But seeing her at Annie’s wedding, you’d never know it. All I saw was a radiant woman, thrilled to host family and friends and throw her baby girl the party of the year.
And this weekend her family moved her into hospice care.
And she reads this blog. And I’ve loved knowing that these stories- the tales of Chicago and theatre and our friendships and trials and travails of fully realized adulthood- have connected me to Annie and her Mom, and have hopefully given her moments of laughter, and made Val realize without a moment’s doubt just how much we love and treasure her daughter.
And it doesn’t seem right that the balance is so far off on this one, that this remarkable woman shouldn’t have a million and seven years to spend with her husband. Her kids. Her grandkids- especially the ones that haven’t yet graced this earth. That she should be in pain. That she should be so very tired from such an unfair and horrific illness.
So I want to say thanks, Val. Thank you for the love and support you’ve always shown Annie’s friends. For the notes and gifts to celebrate my baby girls. And for Annie. Thank you so much for Annie.
Sending all of the love and prayers and wishes for peace from our family to yours, Annie and Val (and your whole, magnificent family)-
-And wishing it were even a fraction of enough.
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