One of my earliest memories was learning Elvis Presley died.
I was at my great-aunt’s trailer in North Huntingdon. Not sure who all was there. Definitely my mom. Maybe my Gram. Probably my cousin, who was an Elvis stan.
It came across the TV and all the women were paralyzed by what they heard.
I was playing on the floor and was alarmed at their expressions. Aunt Lenna said Elvis died, honey.
I had no idea what she meant. But I knew this was big.
It’s what, 45 years later? And hearing that his daughter died … near my age … caused that same shock in me.
I thought Lisa Marie was a better singer. I was into her first album. Listening to it now as I type. I’d forgotten how good it was.
The thing w Lisa Marie is the thing w all of us who get sick. These hospitals and docs pick and choose who they help.
Look at the footballer who just had a heart attack. The heroics to save him.
Look at me who can’t even get a call returned unless it’s from the billing department.
I think they looked at Lisa Marie and saw a druggie. A woman who speaks slowly and has sleepy, dreamy “hangdog” eyes.
A mom whose heart was broken from losing her adult baby.
A nepo baby.
No one worth saving.
You cannot tell me anyone did anything heroic for her.
My friend lost her adult son almost a year ago. She was off-kilter before that w a rotten husband.
Then her dad, her north star, died. She was never the same after that.
All I know is her faraway eyes are filled with even more sadness.
She never touched a drug because her boy’s dad did enough for everyone. But you don’t look at her and know that.
I doubt a medical professional would bother to find out.
She moved back to the state they were all born in. To his neighborhood. To where her beloved dad’s memory is strongest.
I think about that a lot. I already know that I will crumble when my Cocoa goes. And I didn’t expect to have my mom for 15-ish years so far. I forget what life was like on my own. How do I go back to it?
Anyway, I’m thinking of bright-eyed and beautiful Priscilla.
Not the nutty nurse practitioner who can’t get the doc to call me back. Fuck that Penelope Pitstop and that whole institution.
No, my heart is with Priscilla Presley. She’s lost everyone. She is the legacy. The last piece.
One of my staffers lives in Memphis. I always wanted to go. Hoping to get there one day. Even more so now.