#41 - Live Life to the Fullest

There was a memorial for Ellen on Sunday. Her theater pals and colleagues put together an art show and a celebration of Ellen's life. Everyone was encouraged to wear funky clothes, hats, and purses to honor Ellen's wonderful sense of fun.

I didn't go to the ceremony.

I was supposed to contribute her artwork from my personal collection to the exhibit, but somehow communications got screwed up and I did not know about the art exhibit or the memorial.

I found out the night before because someone in my family had read the newspaper and saw the news clip about the get together... which was open to the public.

I mean, that should have been invitation enough for me, but I had expected someone to call me.

Well, that's what I told myself.

So I cried and sulked all of Saturday night well into Sunday.

But, I think the phone call nonsense was trivial make believe on my part, because the reality was... I did not want to go.

I can speak of Ellen here in writing, but I could not fathom the public display of the tears that I knew would be flowing if I attended. I did not want to make a spectacle of myself, or make anyone else uncomfortable.

This was a celebration of Ellen's public life, and quite frankly, I had ceased to be a part of that life years ago when I quit theater and pursued my dream of living nice and happily cozy in a quiet family life. I tossed off the gypsy ways that Ellen and I shared.

That was sort of the end of part of the friendship we had. Theater is not just a career, it truly is a lifestyle.

The large portion of Ellen's life was no longer relevant to the daily life I have been leading, and the same held true for her perspective on how I was living.

She used to come out to the bars to watch me perform in the band, and I would spend my evenings off going to her shows and hanging out until the wee hours of the morning talking, talking, talking about the arts and the latest gossip.

Our friendship reignited almost four years ago when we ran into each other in a small Italian restaurant. That was a moment of Divine intervention.

We had agreed upon that almost instantly.

That restaurant was where we would scrape a few dollars together during our "hungry artist" years to buy a deliciously inexpensive plenty of leftovers tomorrow Italian feast.

I was there with my family to celebrate my Mother's birthday, Ellen was there with her guy for much more somber reasons.

She was going to have her first dose of chemotherapy the next morning. She wanted to enjoy a good meal before she started on that journey with cancer.

We bumped into each other within days after she was diagnosed with the ovarian cancer.

We had not communicated in eons. Ellen and I had only been bumping into each other once in a great while. I had been doing a few theater things before Little Bear came along, but once I became a mom, I didn't see Ellen anymore. Our lives had veered off in two different directions...

yet, there we were face to face in shock in the middle of a noisy restaurant.

I thought, oh God must have known Ellen would need me through this cancer battle.

Boy, was I wrong!

I needed Ellen.

I was diagnosed with lupus within a year after our friendship revived.

We still gabbered on and on about the arts, but now the weight of our discussions shifted mightily.

Life.

What is it?

Is this it?

What's next?

Any regrets?

Anything we would change and if so is it too late?

I can remember one car ride, we had been havig a quiet afternoon. We were at a red light and simultaneously the tears were flowing between the two of us.

"I have cancer," she said quietly. "I HAVE CANCER, DAMMIT! IT'S NOT FAIR!"

"I know. I love you."... I mean what else is there to say?

We went to the public library, sat together pouring over books and went for a sip of tea.

That is the turn it took with our conversations.

Loads of quiet, sometimes a long burst of what was dancing through our hearts, sometimes a lot of residual bickering from years of accumulated nonsense... and then a mutal agreement that life is too short to be petty... and then we would be goofy and call it a day.

I had always felt that I was Ellen's best friend.

"I have a lot of friends, you know."

"I know, Ellen, but you will always, be my best friend."

That is the thing with her... she had that gift.

Charisma.

Makes for interesting people and great theater.

A few weeks ago I won a candle contest.

Out of nowhere. I mean absolutely nowhere.

I had been thinking of Ellen doing her prosperity meditation for 40 days.

At the end of this meditation cycle, she won a beautiful coat from Lucky magazine. It was a great coat, but better still was the thrill of Ellen discovering that her prayers were being heard. I mean she wasn't chanting for a coat... she was just praying for a blessing any blessing onto her life.

But, a coat... well, a coat meant a lot to that gal. Ellen was as tiny as a little bird. She used to walk around in a huge baggy sweater (looked like a guy's garment) and say she was wearing "my man". For all I new, it was her boyfriend's shirt.

But, being draped in a warm comfy garment made Ellen happy, so that coat made her really happy. She would meet up with me and there she would be bouncing around in her brand new prosperity coat.

Yes, prayers are heard.

I was missing her desperately one night, I asked God to allow her to give me a sign, any sign to please please assure me that she knows how much I have loved her.

And I thought what a goofball afterwards. Shame on me for such a prayer.

Shortly after, I get an e-mail telling me I have won this huge prize from a candle website.

I won about fifty dollars worth of candles!

The packages started flowing in.

I danced around for joy with each delievery, but I had forgotten that plea to the heavens.

And then the final candle arrived.

It was a huge purple soy candle that smeeled of cookies. Handmade, scrumptious and the perfect gift for me. I love candles so much. I love the light they bring, the warmth they generate, and the delightful scents that make the home cozy.

Later that night I read the label on the candle.

You know what it said?

BEST FRIENDS.

The color?

Purple.

That was always my color since we were girls. Ellen was yellow and I was purple. Ellen would always toss a little purple into the things she made me because she knew I loved that color so much.

The scent?

Cookies.

The last thing I ever gave Ellen was a huge homemade cookie. We always had to have a cookie when we were together. I gave her one at Hospicee even though she couldn't eat it. She was actually lucid for a moment. I handed her the cookie, and she said, "Oh! A cookie! I had almost forgotten about that!"

She died the next day.

I know that God opened a little window in Heaven... I just know that this candle was no coincidence... it was a little gift from the heart from one pal to another.

So... no. I was not at the memorial.

I heard it was absolutely beautiful.

And tears were shed there... and I am glad for that. Yes, we should celebrate the life of a lossed loved one... but, I think Ellen would be disappointed if folks didn't shed a few tears.

This is my memorial... today.

I woke up this morning and decided the saddest part of the grieving is done.

Ellen, my memorial for you is this.

I promise to live life to the fullest, because that is what you have taught me to do.

You never missed a chance for a quick laugh, or a dash of goofiness to brighten up the day. You had your own style, you walked to your own beat, and you danced to your own music.

And that meeting at Tina's restaurant was the wake up call that life is too precious to surrender to despair.

So, sweety, this one's for you.

I am going to live life to the fullest.

I am going to write, write, write like you told me to.

I am going to publish like you asked me to.

I am going to sing until I pop.

I am going to make music even if no one is listening.

I am going to play like a kid again.

And I thank you.

The candle is really cool.

How DID you do that?

Love,

Lori