Instead of Saying All Of Your GoodByes-RIP

A friend of mine died.

 When I was 16, my mother, unwilling to care for my sister and I any longer, sent my sister to live with my uncle and aunt, and told me to leave the apartment. I had nowhere to go. I was lost and terrified, a junior in high school, and all alone.

My friend’s mother, Gaylene, took me in for a few months. She had carted us around, her daughters and myself, along with our group of friends, to movies and theme parks for a few years. But I hadn’t really known her that well until this time.

It was a vastly different experience from my Mexican upbringing. She taught me how to cook in a whole new way that involved heavy creams and Marie Calendar Turkey Pot Pies, which I love to this day. She let me stay in one of her daughter’s bedrooms (they were joint custody), a quiet place that, for a short time, I had all to myself.

She loved to sing, a beautiful, bold voice that carried Christmas carols I hadn’t really heard before.

She taught me to shave my legs properly, and stop cutting myself to shit. She taught me needlepoint, but in the Victorian way that involved precision and perfect replication on both sides that was very different than my grandma’s style.

She showed me what PBS was, and introduced me to my all-time favorite show, Red Dwarf. She introduced me to science fiction and encouraged my reading. She took me to Renaissance Fairs and let me dress up in costumes she made by hand for her daughters.

She took me to my first ever buffet….to this day, the site of all that food I never knew existed spread out and endless lives with me.

She was so kind, so generous and patient. She hugged me and held me when I was overwhelmed by that deep pit of rejection and abandonment nothing could ever fill. For a few months, I had a mother and a friend in her. She took care of me until she couldn’t anymore. She told my mother it was CPS or start paying support, and my mother made me come back. I was on my own, and this time, completely. My sister, my only real family, was still living with my uncle and his family. My mother was gone weeks on end, stopping in occasionally to pick up clothes or drop off groceries. Off with her new boyfriend, who she would, three years later, move in with and send me off into the world on my own for good. It was a dark time.

In 2017, I had my first solo show in a shitty, dilapidated, little non-profit community center in Sacramento. The walls and windows were covered in a thick layer of neglect. It was surrounded by a giant dirt lot, on the very edge of town, tucked away and forgotten. But to me, it was a chance to shine. For a day, I would be the star of this show. I had worked over a year, every day, on giant pieces taped to my wall of my apartment. I felt like I was about to truly begin my career and I announced it to all my friends and family on Facebook.

Gaylene drove herself and her friend from an hour away. I hadn’t seen or really spoken to her since I was a teen. When she came through the door, my throat caught and I fought back tears. I hugged her and thanked her and I wish I had said so much more. But I couldn’t without losing my composure.

A year ago, I messaged her on Facebook. I checked in to see how she was doing during the pandemic. She said she was keeping busy. She thanked me for checking in, I made a mental note to keep doing so. I didn’t.

She died on Monday. She laid down to take a nap and she never woke up.

There are not many people who have shown me such altruistic kindness in my life. There are even fewer who showed any interest in me beyond what I can do for them. She loved me for me in a time when I was sure nobody, not even my own mother, could. That saved my life, it truly did. And I am eternally grateful for our time together.

“And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round”