Yesterday evening at Brooklyn Bridge Park, we watched the sun set. “Bye,” my boyfriend casually addressed the giant red orb as it slipped below the horizon. “See you tomorrow.”
From my party slideshow, when people thought I was goth and cool in my early 20s before they got to know me.
I smiled at his comment. I would see the sun the next day, today. We all live with the hope and assumption we’ll see the sun rise another day. I’ve been grappling with the thought that one day soon I might not. It doesn’t seem real that my time is up. I find myself still circling flower bulb choices for my garden plot. I look at upcoming concerts.
I was going to get a Keytruda treatment this past Wednesday, but on Tuesday I found out there was a delay in approval, so it’s slated for this coming Wednesday instead. It doesn’t change much, though I probably would have worked a few more days before going on disability. My last day was Tuesday at work, and it was bittersweet.
I’m a little afraid. I’m worried about the side effects: swollen lymph nodes (mine are already hurting because of the tumors), muscle and bone pain (already have some of that too), a rash (vanity; I already am diminished). There’s only a 3 percent chance of this working too, so this extra week gives me one more week of hope before it’s probably dashed. I firmly believe I’m going to win the lottery every time I buy a ticket.
I’m sad. I don’t want to go. I would like to have some wellness and stay and it’s impossible.
Last weekend I had my living wake, which I re-named an Extreme Goodbye Party, at the event space in my friend’s apartment building in Long Island City. I wish it could be an annual event for years. An unnecessary event. I saw so many people from my present and my past, from high school friends to more recent writing group members. I was inundated with well wishes, flowers, cards, and gifts: a custom flower-crown, cat ears, T-shirts, wine. A friend/former co-worker from Columbus sent a gift box of goodies from the iconic record store her boyfriend owns.
Another favorite thing: Friends brought some of my favorite foods. A friend made blackout cookies. My boss painstakingly decorated delicious cookies in the shape of my favorite Slack emojis (Chompy, Free Food, Party Shrimp, and of course, Party Parrot). My friend Kate made blue Jell-O shots with gummy sharks as a tribute to the shots I made for a viewing of Sharknado, and her friend dressed up his dinosaur/Gremlin in a life vest, with teeth marks in it. (Yes, you read that last part correctly. Please refer to the photo.) Another friend made rich blackout cupcakes. My friend Cheryl sent Cheryl’s Cookies.
I kept heading towards the deviled eggs and the onion dip and never made it. People brought Doughnut Plant doughnuts. Jeni’s Ice Cream appeared; my friend Dorian was wearing a Jeni’s shirt because, he noted, if you’re visiting from Ohio, you have to let everyone know with an Ohio T-shirt. Two friends brought the winners of the fried chicken sandwich taste test I set up at work to prove Chick-fil-a is overrated, and the Shake Shack sandwiches disappeared within an hour.
Like the famous In-and-Out Burger mystery in which a girl painstakingly transferred burgers from LA to NYC, my friend Pam transported the best veggie burgers (and hands-down the best burgers) from Northstar Cafe in Columbus. I’ve tried to re-create them and haven’t cracked the code.
My friend Lisa contacted Hale and Hearty Soups to ask if she could special order my absolute favorite soup, Creamy Tomato with Pasta and Meatballs. When I arrived at the party, there was a simmering pot of soup. She told me later that even the soup was out of season, Hale and Hearty vowed to make a special batch for me and ordered the ingredients.
Photo credit: John Wadsworth
My favorite thing was the memories and stories people shared. I wasn’t sure about the toast portion of the evening, initially nervously sipping from my red Solo cup. But hearing tales from my life, from the “origin stories” of friendships and funny memories to the serious stuff we’ve been through together with one another was a highlight, especially since I felt like I spoke to everyone for about two minutes each. We spoke of the time we drank a bar out of sparkling wine after a dry wedding, the difference between being my nemesis and enemy, silly advice that I’d doled out that went unheeded. We spoke about how we’d changed one anothers’ lives.
Since I announced the party, I received notes and messages from people who couldn’t attend. A lot of things people have said surprised me. In a video message and in person and via email, several people have said I was inspiring. A high school pal half-jokingly said she changed a WWJD? bumper sticker in her mind to “What Would Josie Do?” She said, “I liked that better.”
Me in my goth apartment, looking goofy. I was always too happy to be a real goth girl.
At least three people said that they were initially intimidated by me and thought I was too cool to hang out with them. That was especially funny considering what a big dork I actually am once you get to know me. In many renditions of people’s stories, I was a lot of characters: the high school/college goth, the reliable quirky sidekick in an ’80s or Gen-X film.
In more tearful portions, guests recalled our shared heartbreaks, divorces, losses, hard times, and how we were there for one another.
Photo credit: John Wadsworth
Then we ate and drank more. I said so many hellos and before I knew it, it was time for the goodbyes. It was such a whirlwind. I want so badly the goodbyes I say to not be final. Eventually they will be for all of us. The sun will set on us for the last time. I want more toasts and parties and sunsets, but if I don’t have many left, I’m grateful to have shared them with so many good friends and people.