Keep on truckin'

Death is stupid. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the people I love, dying. But I can't stop death and I can't change death so what do I do? I'll write about it. That'll show death. Here's a blog making fun of you death, so take THAT! Hiiiyah!!

My boss died today. Ingrid. She's been my boss for eight years.But none of that sounds right. She's been my FRIEND for eight years. I started working part time for her in March of 2005 and quit my job to work full time for her last April. I knew she was going to die. Her doctor knew. Her nurses knew. Her friends knew. She didn't know. She wouldn't let herself know. She never gave up. She even passed away with a shout. I swear. Ingrid was diagnosed with ovarian cancer (oh btw cancer, I actually hate you more than death) ten years ago. She was given less than two years. Ten years later, death finally came for her.

Of course any time someone dies it's sad. Especially a dear friend. I'm getting good at death now (not something you can fill in as a skill on a job application but it does help your mental health). I think I grieved Ingrid during these past three weeks in hospice. I talked to her, held her hand, asked her to give Kate a hug for me. And now that she's gone, the emptiness I feel isn't that awful heart wrenching kind that makes you feel dazed and unsure if you are wearing underwear or if you turned of the stove. It's just the void I have knowing I won't be seeing her tomorrow. It's a sadness more for her than me because she never accepted her own mortality. And all I can do is know that she was completely pain free when she died, and surrounded by her favorite girls. Hopefully now she's saying, what the HELL is wrong with me? This place is awesome! I think that's what she's saying.

After she passed away I had a few minutes alone with her to say my last goodbye. Cass said I should talk to the ceiling since she had already left her body. So I held her hand and looked up and I told her this:

Thank you. Thank you for giving me the life that I've had for eight years. It's been wonderful. Thank you for teaching me about Germany and wars and money and fine things and birds and Lance Armstrong and the Iditarod and knitting and patience. Patience was my homeboy with you Ingrid. Because I don't care how fast you go over a speed bump, it will not burst your appendix, but sure I went point zero zero five miles per hour over them for you so as not to burst yours, as you insisted. 

And then I had to stop to laugh through my tears.

And I kissed her on the head and told her I loved her.

I don't know what will happen now. I mean clearly I have to get a job (anyone hiring? My skills include clipping toenails, opening mail and promptly verbally abusing the credit card company for charging a yearly fee, and killing the rampant ants in your kitchen because you keep spilling your gatorade while you fall asleep in your chair). But for this day, I'll drive around aimlessly, eat some ice cream and write this blog. And I'll think of you often my sweet Ingrid. Because you were absolutely one of a kind.