Caterwauling

Dearest S.,

I know you were with me all day today. So I don’t have to type it all out.

You know the impromptu meeting that almost kept me from meeting your friends tonight. You also know that I never worked as fast as I did to make sure I made it on time.

We didn’t do that while you were alive. I wish we had. Excuse ourselves from the unimportant to enjoy the company of like-minded people.

I enjoyed everyone I met tonight. But, you know. Those days of instant and complete friendship like we had? That ship has apparently sailed. But I do like your newer friends. I thank you for bringing us together.

It’s Alex’s birthday, which you know. I reached out to him last night and we’ve typed a few times since. I thanked him for welcoming me into your home and for all the dinners, bottles of wine and conversations we all shared. The day is bittersweet for him. I told him you’d want him to not miss the sweet. I hope he’s listening to me.

He called me Goddess on every reference, like you did. I love you guys so hard right now. Always did, but you are truly living on … please know that.

Your other friends and I head-scratched over the scholarship thing. I had to ask what they thought. They all had the same puzzled reaction. One said pretty much what I typed earlier. “Sia wanted to save the world. I am not sure I would have arrived at ‘journalism scholarship.'”

Another said you were probably cringing at the obituary writing. We all agreed you would have edited it heavily. And we also agreed — they picked the most-beautiful picture possible to accompany it.

You know the rest. You know how I cried when C. told us about coming to your house for dinner. I told how your mom taught you and your sister to cook. How she called you both “Child.” C. told us how he got his apartment (um, you. Of course.) and I told how I gave you the name of that place. They asked how I knew you and I told all our stories from Rockville and beyond. At some point they also realized I hired Teresa too.

I’m pretty sure I earned rock-star status, for bringing you both into our world.

You guys are the rock stars. I am just really, really good at hiring. 🙂

Funny how we don’t often get to do what we excel at.

They told me what happened with your promotion. Utter and complete bullshit. No wonder you didn’t tell me.

Well, you know the rest. I will leave it at that.

The nice thing about this gathering is that everyone loved you. I know of one, or probably two because you just know that’s how it goes, who were so mean to you who are coming to the next event. I’m waffling between wanting to share your story and wanting to keep you all to myself in mixed company.

I know I’ll make the right decision when it comes time.

In any event, the wine is wearing off and there’s a surprise little project in my inbox. Again, something you’d understand and appreciate.

I’m beginning to realize you were the only one who could. Or did.

Love you,
Goddess

I saw that Sia’s former employer established a scholarship fund in her name.

It makes sense. She gave everything to them. It’s good that they can help her memory live on. It was the right thing to do. It’s more than most would do.

But …

A college scholarship? In the era of Bernie Sanders and “free college for everyone except you assholes still drowning in student debt 25 years after you graduated because you were unfortunate enough to borrow at a 10% interest rate”?

Also, it’s to sponsor aspiring writers. Because that’s what she wanted to be, they say.

Look.

I say this with love because that’s all I have in my heart for our girl and anyone else who loved her.

She and I both knew you can’t be a writer anymore. Everyone’s a writer now. Even with lousy grammar, poor sentence structure and this b.s. called FK scores that makes you dumb everything down so even a Trump voter can comprehend it.

Those of us who were classically trained have had to find niches. Health. Finance. Sports. Policy. You can write … but you’ll probably be subbing in for people who have the knowledge who can’t hold a conversation with a normal person without you as their translator.

You know how to honor her?

1. Raise a bunch of money and donate it to the people of Greece. The ones who are eating out of dumpsters because there are no jobs.

2. Help the pensioners whose whole families have moved back into their basements. Who now all have to make do with one meal a day because they suddenly have seven more mouths to feed.

3. Send a bunch of people into the Peace Corps and keep the volunteerism spirit alive. Have them build a village and name it after her.

She was going to join the Peace Corps, for those of you who didn’t know. I can’t remember the timing — I’m pretty sure it was after I was tossed from that last company and she was saddled with my job for her pay.

It was a total fluke that the job she DID take (and stay at for the next five years) opened up when it did.

She wasn’t going to apply because none of us are allowed to apply at competitors. I mean we are but we catch hell for it and who wants to jeopardize what you DO have in favor of something you might not get?

No wonder everyone’s a walking anxiety attack, when you put it that way.

Anyway. You want to honor that beautiful girl, you make the world a better place. We don’t need more writers. (Wait, yes, yes we do. < / weary editor here > )

We need more Sias. That’s what we need. Full of love and hope and deep thoughts and compassion for our fellow man.

Anyway.

Maybe, with that, I’m starting to see how I can best memorialize her.