This isn't about divorce. This is about losing (yet another) friend. This one was extremely hard because Julie knew everyone. Julie was not a fading violet. Julie made herself, her feelings and her opinions known. Without hesitation. She was born with the brutally honest gene. She believed in unflinching realism and practiced it with aplomb. At first, I couldn't stand it. My feeling was: if you're my friend, be nice to me and make me feel good about myself; if you're not my friend, then you can tell me I have trouble paying attention and I'm disorganized. I was still 'young' then. I met her when I was pregnant. She would give me a hug and a kiss but would tell me when I sucked at something. Her behavior confused me. Plus, she looked and acted like the one person I could not stand in high school. Same look. Same 'my-sh#&-doesn't-stink attitude. Same I'm-God's-gift ego. Same over-sized breasts on a pint-sized body. Yep, we were NOT going to get along. But, joy oh joy! she was assigned to my grade level and my partner teacher was her mentor. I couldn't wait to go out on maternity leave.
We butted heads for years. I felt she could dish it out abundantly, but she couldn't take it. Once I scolded her for making my class line up before the lunch bell rang. She was so upset, she had her husband help her write a letter to me, and she wanted to 'meet' with me to discuss it. I blew her off. She brought her husband to the 'meeting'. I didn't care and I didn't cave. She ticked me off like only that one other person could. I wasn't going to give her any credence. Her letter meant nothing to me.
She didn't understand why I stayed with Bill. I didn't understand why she thought everybody should have to listen to her drivel. She thought I was scatter-brained. I thought she was opinionated. She thought I was disorganized. I thought she was rigid. She thought I had no class discipline plan. I thought she was mean and bossy to her students.
Then she had babies and experienced postpartum dementia. I realized how poorly I used my planning time. Her marriage faltered, they separated, and she reconciled so her children could be raised in a household with both parents. My husband continued with an addiction. She got cancer. My daughter rebelled. Life took its toll on both of us and we mellowed. We started looking at each other through different eyes. Somewhere along the way we began to accept each other, respect each other and tolerate our differences. We respectfully, even lovingly, agreed to disagree on some issues, but in the end it turned out that we held similar philosophies about children, education and home life. She was always more structured and strong-willed than I, but I had discovered that she cared about me. I saw that this strong-willed and opinionated woman was fiercely loyal and supportive of her friends. She loved her job. She loved a party and a good time. She loved beer. She loved her alma mater. She loved her colleagues and when someone was suffering, she was there to help. She helped one friend fill out divorce papers, she helped another while her husband died of cancer, she invited several of us to be in a pilates test group at a local upscale studio for free, she got a yoga teacher to do classes at school for us, she got a pilates teacher to give us classes, and invited us all to go to Vegas while she and her husband renewed their wedding vows then got the casino to open a private $5 blackjack table for us. She was self-confident and fearless.
She had a determination to live every day of her life with gusto. She was her brutally honest self about her cancer and her prognosis. Once she posted on Facebook that she had melanoma of the liver, a pretty dire form of cancer, and one of our colleagues responded, "Yeah, but does that cancer know what it's up against in that host?" Julie was a fighter. She fought that cancer like nobody I've ever heard of. She fought and fought and fought.
On June 13, I spent a couple of hours at her house. From her chair, she was running the show. She was checking her son's homework and his grades online. She scolded her daughter for coming home late from a babysitting job. She told her daughter she would not be able to attend both the bat mitzvahs on August 27, that she could RSVP to one invitation and not attend the other while the daughter was planning on attending the ceremony for one and the reception for the other. Her father was replacing the front threshold, her mother was working in the kitchen, her cousin from Australia was cooking. On July 11 she died. The memorial service was yesterday. The bat mitzvahs are next weekend.
Her service was at a church that was far too small to hold the crowd that came to honor her. She was eulogized. Songs were sung. Memories were shared. And as in many instances, I learned more about her at the service, and that made me hold her in higher esteem.
I will look across the yard at her room and, for my remaining one or two years at this school, I will see her face, I will hear her voice, I will miss her energy. And one thing I will really, really miss is that fierce little fun-sized spitfire who could look an administrator in the face and not buy any of the crap they were trying to sell. I will miss the little woman who would not be cowed by someone's bullying. I will miss the elfin kindergarten teacher who loved SCNKIDS and drove a cardinal and gold Mustang V8 every day I knew her. Her kids will grow up without a mother and I hope ---- I really hope ---she made some video messages to play to them on the various momentous events in their lives. Because nobody, I mean NOBODY, can replace her. Especially for them.
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