For Shirley

I first met her in the weekly Cancer Support Group.  Ok, meeting someone at a cancer support group is kind of asking for pain - we're not talking about a group that makes actuaries salivate.  But she had something.

When I met her, she was wearing what I think of as dance-wear - leggings, an oversized sweatshirt with the word "Pink" on it over a black camisole, perfect makeup and a bold pink streak in her steel-gray hair.  She was a broad in the best sense of the word - the kind of woman you know will take no shit from anyone, yet always a lady.  Even though she was in stage 4 of her fight, she still worked as a costumer for local stage shows (I was so envious of her working Evita), and she had also worked as a makeup artist.  I think she had every single shade of eye shadow MAC ever made.

She also was one of the best advocates for making doctors pay attention to you that I've ever met.  She guided me to the point where I was able to get a discussion going with my doctor (after way too long on hold), and she was a fighter for everyone in the meetings.  Even days when she was down, she was still able to cut through bullshit.  And she gave great hugs...

I wasn't the most constant attender of the meetings - people started dying and I had a really hard time handling it.  Have I ever mentioned just how much I detest change?  Never mind, that should really be between me and my psychologist.  But I didn't show - sometimes for a couple of months.  When I showed up in December, I couldn't recognize her at first, until I realized that the much shorter woman in the pirate shirt and headscarf had to be Shirley.  Especially when she hugged me - that was definitely Shirley. 

She passed away Monday... and I'm sitting here crying over someone I didn't really know nearly as well as I wanted to.  I'll miss you, Shirley.