emily

Emily

4/21/04

Emily was the person who showed me how to dress up a pair of Carhartt’s. She made competent look feminine.

She taught me how to smoke Drum.

She taught me things about my husband that I would never have understood, but she did because she knew him in a different way. And, she was like him in so many ways that I am not.

She inspired me to be more creative in the field – she made crafty little charts for teaching the stars.

She hoovered everything in my house, including every last noodle spilled in the back of the pantry.

She loved chocolate and red wine.

Emily was one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on with her green eyes and glorious hair. She taught me the joys of curls and the necessity of blowing my hair out straight.

She could Indian Leg Wrestle like nobody’s business. I’ve seen her flip men twice her size like they were ants.

She always had a drip on the end of her nose – the Emily Drip.

She was the saddest person that I had ever met.

She was also the strongest person that I had ever met. I’ve never seen anyone fight her disease like she did. She was tough.

She taught me that Taureans are not only grounded and earthy, but can also be verbally abusive.

She read the ENTIRE Country of Marriage at our wedding. She cried with my father. She wore my rehearsal dinner dress at our wedding.

She taught me that a woman could be competent, burly skilled, talented and strong, yet still be feminine and like to wear dresses.

She could ski.

She fell off a cliff while making a movie and lived to tell about it. She lost a knee cap and still had better legs than me.

She had the ability to love so intensely that it hurt.

She flaked out on everyone, pissed all of us off, yet came through just when we were about to give up on her.

She always had pictures of her friends around.

She was Everett and Bowen’s godmother.

She had this way of saying hello that made you smile no matter what kind of bad mood you were in.

She held my hand through so many a dark night when I thought I would die.

She was the glue that kept so many of us together.

When she checked into the hospital, we had long phone conversations about how much fun it was to be crazy. I used to tell her that I was jealous that she was in the loony bin and I still had to deal. She didn’t take that the wrong way.

She went through so much and every day tried so hard to smile when she woke up.

She made baby bird sounds in the morning.

You couldn’t leave your food bag lying out without her scarffing all of your treats. She was the reason for the invention of the “Guy Bag”.

She loved Tom, even when he wore those god-awful blue shorts.

She made me smile.

One thing that you could always count on with Emily was that she would flake out on you. But it was never a reflection of her love for you.

She loved me.

She loved my boys.

She loved her family so very much and shared them with all of us. I knew her nephew as if I saw them every day.

What you saw was who she was – no games with Emily.

She was a spit-fire. Easily pissed off and just as quick to forgive.

She loved to take baths in our claw-foot tub. She loved late-night conversations about Mike and Tom.

She brought squash to our house the last time she came and made us dinner. She taught us how to make Henro’s potatoes. She and Mike brought us honey from Mexico which still sits on our counter, permanently crystallized.

She was my best friend – my sister.

She could annoy me like no other and make me feel like the most special person in the world.

She always told me that she loved me.

She hurt so badly that she couldn’t go on.

 

One thought on “emily

  1. baldtimwin

    I remember when you called me. I was so psyched to hear your voice and connect. Then you told me. Torn me apart. She lives with our memories. Thank you Suzanne for keeping it real.

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