Iraq: Part II "Foreign Exchange Sales Teams"...... by Julianna Rowe

 Part II continued:   Iraq:  

Back in my room I secretly longed to be in the heart and arms of that man, Ari. Was this the reason for my journey? What now? As I lay thinking of his touch I passed into sleep. The next day I awoke to believing it must all be a dream stemming from the magnificent surroundings of the Hotel with its majestic interiors of gold and grand food. Maybe I had eaten something that caused these deliriums. Yet there was Ari to greet me with a gentle good morning. In his own language he called me his beautiful woman. Again, we lay for some time bathing in one an other's love. Later that day I began thinking how could this work? Then I didn't care, I just knew it would.

The limousine came for our team the day we were to fly back to America.  Ari was supposed to meet me with a plan for our future, but he did not.  I couldn't find Ari. I was frantic with search, yet I had to leave. My visiting pass was up which meant if I stayed, I would be held in contempt of travel and detained in a foreign country by its officials. 

Ari, where are you? We must plan, Ari, Ari.

As the plane took off my eyes welled with a flooding mixture of agonies. The pain, loss, sadness, and despair were almost unbearable. Did he use me? No. That was not what we had! Yet I didn't hear from Ari for three months. I left sales and went into a different small scale home business. I had lost my boldness and drive and I was not the same sales leader and business woman. Ari's love removed, left a deep scar on my heart. It touched every part of my life as love truly does for without it I felt I had lost so much, and I was without it.

My Mother saw I wasn't the same as before my trip to Iraq. She inquired as to my duress and I relayed to her my story. She asked me if I had tried to contact Ari. I had. The lines of communication to Baghdad were very limited. I had also tried writing with no response. I told Mother I would even wear the Berta if necessary, to be with Ari. Mother was in shock. She left my house that day rather speechless as she realized the extent of my desires, but what could she say? I had fallen deeply in love with a gentle man from Iraq, who was missing.

About a week later my doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone. I answered the door and almost sank to the floor when I saw Ari standing before me. I jumped into his arms and we held tightly to one another for a long time. I didn't even think to say, Why? Where? What? Nothing. I just held to him. He told me he needed heart surgery and had come to America to have the surgery which was tomorrow. He told me he would return for me. He wouldn't let me ask any more questions and he walked away after assuring me he would return and when he did, he would explain everything. I had regained my trust in him although I didn't understand why I couldn't be with him through his surgery and recovery.  Iraqi men do not argue, they tell you the way it will be and you listen.  Not that they are harsh, rather Ari was unemotional and able to weigh situations in a more businesslike yet loving manner.  Seemingly he knew the outcome and how to best attain it. I trusted him for some unknown earthly reason.

Ari returned after his healing time. He ensured me the love we shared had gotten him through with no complications. When he came to my door he came with hundreds of gifts. Beautiful gifts for my family and friends. It was bigger than Christmas. It was almost as magnificent spiritually as the Hotel where I met him in Iraq. Ari pulled me to him and told me of his undying love for me. He told me either I come with him to his country now this day, or he would return in January to be with me in my country. I was speechless. This man I had met six months ago was sickly and frail with unkempt hair. Our love had transformed him spiritually and physically as it had me. I was looking at a stunningly handsome deep tanned man with clean cut hair and deep loving dark eyes. I guess my friends Mother was right. Those men do love women with blonde hair and a bit larger derriere.

I asked Ari to give me a few minutes to think how to arrange things.  I walked into another room while Ari patiently waited. 

Suddenly in front of me what seemed like from nowhere was a very beautiful Iraqi woman holding the hand of a small child.  She stared at me with the exact same eyes as Ari did the first time I saw him at the feast in Iraq. All I could think or see in her was Ari. Did he have a wife already? Was that her? Oh Lord God of all, please lead and guide me here. She never spoke, only looked deep in my eyes as Ari did. The child seemed quite content and quiet playing on the floor. At that moment I knew I had to fight for what I wanted and that was Ari. No matter who she was.  I was about to leave her and the child and run back to Ari in fear when she walked over and put her hand on my arm while looking into my soul with appreciation and a kindness that wasn’t of the earth. She smiled and gave my arm a squeeze of approval.  I felt love from her.  Who in the name of God was that woman in my living room?  Yet I felt no fear.  I turned toward the room where I had left Ari, looked back at her and the child, but they were gone.  Where did they go?  Where did they come from? My thoughts were I would deal with her later and believed she left out the back way. I was so emotional due to Ari’s showing up out of the blue I dismissed her and the child from my mind.  I ran back to the arms of the man I had fallen in love with.

I told Ari the decision was his. I would leave with him today or wait for him to return. He said with the state his country was in at present he would prefer my safety for now. He would return to me in January. That would give me time to make more responsible arrangements.

The thought of the woman and child came back to me and I shared her with Ari.  As I described her to him while asking if he had brought his sister with him to help him through his surgery and recovery, I noticed the tears in his eyes begin to fall down his beautifully tanned handsome face one by one each telling a story of love and pain.  Ari asked me what the boy looked like.  For some reason I didn’t ask why, rather I described the sweet boy while adding the vivid memory of the woman walking to me, squeezing my arm in some sort of approval.  Ari’s tears ceased.  He took my hands in his and told me the woman was the spirit of his deceased wife and son.

The woman and child that were visiting me in the other room of my home had been killed in an Iraqi bombing a few years before. I knew then, as Ari did, her spirit had led me to Iraq, pushing me towards Ari all the while knowing I would love him forever as she had intended to. And so, I did.  Ari joined me in the United States bringing with him his riches and glory.  We moved to Washington D.C. where he became a dignitary for relations between the United States and Iraq until it was no longer possible.  Ari became an American citizen and we then opened our own Insurance company adding sales teams all over the country with availability to trade teams with peaceful countries all over the world.  Not to mention we had a few of our own little ones to add to the census of the United States of America, for which it stands, one nation, under God, with Liberty and Justice for all. 

 

Iraq.......by Julianna Rowe (2003)

"Iraq: Foreign Exchange Sales Teams"   (Written in 2003)  PART I 

Our sales team had entered a nationwide contest called “The Greatest Sales-Team in the World.”  We won, and were chosen under the guise of “Foreign Exchange Team” exchange and that was against my better judgment or rather against every fear I could think of.

Sales is something I enjoyed doing within reason of course and this certainly seemed to be without reason. Do you recall in High School when we exchanged Foreign students? Well that crazy idea came up on a message from the leaking bowels of our manufacturing Human Resources Department. They chose to exchange Sales teams with Iraq of all places. I was thinking someone wasn't thinking. Seems they decided to be the "undertakers" of this grand new idea for peace and harmony between countries.

Why me? Although when I rethought that, throughout history people have said why me while they are in the middle of a battlefield, be it cancer, or some terrible accident that leaves them paralyzed, or Human Resources trading sales teams with Iraq.  P-l-e-a-s-e!  But then, I was one of the best who passed the test so there I was in the middle of going to the Middle East. Not that I considered that a prize for my excellent sales ability.  What ever happened to a Mediterranean Cruise or Porta Vallarta? 

My standard of living had become quite lucrative and I rather enjoyed it, but not to the place of lending myself to harm? Yet everyone involved reassured me all would be well in the Middle East for this trip. I was thinking, all is never well in the Middle East. My only hope was I wouldn’t be the lucky one to run into Saddam or that other bearded person, Osama bin Laden. And of course, I didn’t suppose they would allow my gun to pass through any airport.  I was known for using my sense of humor during stress related issues such as even the relaying of this memory.

I recall I remembered my working days back in Texas when I was selling insurance late at night or even during the day in the back woods walking to a client’s front door among a herd of longhorn cattle. Back then I packed a pistol indeed but times had changed, crime was up and guns weren't allowed to protect one's self. Or if one did protect oneself, one ended up in the "Big House" named criminal. 

A new trend had infiltrated our country called judgment.  If a child was kidnapped, the parents were instantly the guilty ones! If a woman was murdered, her husband was immediately implicated.  The world had changed.  It was no longer innocent until proven guilty, it was guilty until you prove yourself innocent. 

Back to the Middle East Peace Plan Human Resources USA Sales team exchange trip. My team chosen!

Yes, I tended to be somewhat tenacious and that is why I was good at what I did which is why I ended up on that flight from New York to Paris and then on to Baghdad. My heart was beating so hard on that last flight as it circled for landing I questioned my intelligence once again causing anxiety to show it ugly uncircumcised head. Not that I never had second guessed myself before. Breathe I said to myself. The other fellows didn't seem as emotional about our quest as I. But then they were men and I was a woman, a blonde woman. I had heard from a close friend who married a Muslim man that they love blondes. Especially American blondes with a slightly larger derriere. Oh good, I will be sought after by Muslim men in a foreign rather unfriendly country as I am selling my "wares." Go ahead, imagine that as an 8x 10 glossy? On the other hand, possibly, my life would be spared because of my "other end."  Quite the odd reference wouldn’t you say?  In other words, my ass might save me.  I could live with that.

We were greeted at the Baghdad airport, which had been nearly destroyed during the recent bombings. Seeing it from the air left nothing to the imagination. The pain and fear emanated through the rubble as though the dead were rising in masses of grey mists leaving behind and all around them clouds of the fear felt at the time of their instant obliteration. I started to feel something other than my usual self. I began to feel the lives of the deceased strongly as I spiritually becoming one with Iraq as the landing gears descended. I secretly wondered if the others I was traveling with were feeling any of the same classified emotions.  And then among my thoughts and sensing’s from the mist of the dead one’s that filled the space surrounding us who had passed on, we landed.

The men were quiet as we were escorted to a black Limousine. Not one of those long stretch Hummers like back home. More a snub-nosed classier version like president’s ride in. We were taken to one of the only hotels left standing. Once inside it was breathtaking. The tile work and gold inlay all about us spoke of immense wealth, yet the city that had stood for the spirit of hope through God was in shambles. What did anyone expect us to retrieve from such despair and destruction?  Surely God had a plan somewhere among this disarray. Were we God's two thousand five-hundred-piece puzzle? But what if he wanted to place the pieces and we didn't let him! I had taken off on one of my imaginary mental travel junkets. 

At that point in time I wasn't being anything but somber, confused, and intimidated, considering I was quite the minority. I was blonde, buxom, and donned a large derriere, as well as I was not concealed like most of the women who covered their faces with Berta's. They didn't have to since the war ended, but fear still gripped many of them. American soldiers were everywhere. Some taking their surroundings more seriously than others which was normal for our human race in any situation. More than once I wished I had one of those black garment Berta's or Niqab’s to cover my entire body only exposing my eyes. I wanted to hide. Hide wasn’t going to happen for me at that point, in fact, before long we were to be presented to the heads of the company we were playing foreign exchange sales team with.

The feast presented us was unbelievable. Huge festive bowls of every fruit imaginable. Wines served in gold goblets. Gold on every item we touched everywhere. The people of Iraq have a deep appreciation for their own cuisine. They presented very expensive meats at nearly every meal. This meat can be sheep, roasted lamb, chicken, beef, goat, or Masgouf, a fish eaten all around Iraq and often referred to as the national dish of the country. I found out later Masgouf was Carp!  Tomato and chickpea stew, served with rice. Nuts, seeds, dried fruits, pickles, a large variety of homemade breads. Kleicha is a traditional Iraqi cookie that's prepared for special occasions as this. The cookies are made with flour, butter, yeast, cardamom, fennel, and nigella seeds. They are traditionally filled with walnuts, sugar, cardamom, or dates.  I was in awe of the presentation before us.

I also found the people very accommodating towards all of us and I was starting to feel more comfortable, when into the room came a much older man drawing my attention completely as if I knew him personally. His salt and pepper hair carried dreadlocks past his wide shoulders onto a tall thin frame. He was quite charming yet seemed physically frail.  He was dressed of wealth and conservatism, almost as though he didn't belong there. His eyes moved toward me several times with a depth that added honor of me. But why? I considered it might be my derriere but I was sitting and had been the entire time.   My mind was having trouble understanding the look he gave that appeared to come "into" me. While trying to remain busy and avoid his look I eventually over ate myself into a state of lethargy. Like when you go to a function where you do not know many, therefore due to the social discomfort you waltz around the buffet table overeating for as long as possible. The wine certainly added to the creeping out introvert part of me, I am sure.

He disappeared as quickly as he appeared leaving an immense sense of, "Who was that man?"

(To be continued in tomorrow's blog post)

"The Conversion Zone" a short story by Julianna Rowe

 

“The Conversion Zone”    by Julianna Rowe 

Rimrock Road 8:23 am CST April 23^rd, 1923   

 I stood watching the children play. The boys racing their tall tricycles and the girls dragging cloth dolls on the ground with one hand while blowing harshly on their new bird whistles with the other. I know not how I knew them or why I was there, I just was.   The children began gathering around me staring.  So, I stared back.  Children don’t get embarrassed when people don’t respond to them immediately like adults do.  But I held my ground for as long as adulthood allowed and then I exclaimed.

“What?”

They continued to stare in silence.  I was no longer embarrassed rather I was getting scared when I noticed each child had white hair and steel blue eyes that were piercing through to my soul.  Then over to the left of the small group of the children of the damned stood a man clearly surrounded in a grey mist, with dark hair and dark eyes.  He seemed to be their master. 

Where was I? Who was I? And most of all, who was the group of weird people all pointing in unison to the vast acres of land across the street.

That was when a voice spoke up saying. 

“That is the half a million-dollar land you lost to your sister.”

I turned so slowly it was like a scene from a slow-motion movie reel. I needed to see the losses they were all pointing out to me but when I turned all I saw were acres of dead earth possessed by more of those same children of the damned and their leader.  Although I did spiritually connected with the money I and my family had lost to those thieves. Yet the land belonged to the dark man and his children all possessed by past and future generations who lurked upon the cold deceased estate.

One of the children caught my attention when I couldn’t help but notice her eyes changed like that of a chameleon in danger.  Her white hair turned yellow blonde and she came alive like the sun and her steely scary eyes went golden brown and shown beauty like the autumn leaves. She looked like a child version of me.  As she left the others and walked toward me, she reached for my hand and I obliged as I took hers into mine.   I knew her but I didn’t know how I knew her.  She led me away from those withering souls through a misty yellow porthole to a quiet neighborhood where the sun was bright and a feeling of freedom lifted me from the dark evil place we had left behind.  At least I hoped we had.  She then safeguarded me to a truck sitting by itself on an empty street and then she disappeared in a blink but where she had stood was left a beautiful glow of soft rainbow colors.  I quickly moved in an attempt to retrieve her as though I had lost part of me and had to get it back.  When I reached for the space where she had disappeared, all the gentle colors of who she was enveloped me, offering a peace like I had never known. Was she me in a past life? Was she an Angel warning me?  Or helping me?  I think she was me in 1923. She had come through the porthole from the fifth dimension to aid me in the loss of my family inheritance and to assist me toward a better future. 

I had been told by a spirit, before this encounter, there are twelve dimensions in all that surround our Universe. Each of the twelve are comprised of different phases of learning. Sort of like a school where you escalate according to how far you evolved during your living years.  One being the most evolved and twelve being pre-kindergarten.  I knew from the spirit man who visited me that when you pass on you carry a light.  Maybe to light your way was a guess on my part.  He told me some have brighter lights than others but they all ascend magnetically to whichever dimension they belong to continue their journey. It’s all about energy and physics. But what did all this have to do with me and the very large truck I was heading toward sitting on the very empty street?

The truck was like an army transport vehicle.  I walked around it peering at the dark green almost black color with its huge back doors latched using a long heavy metal bar.  What was inside the dreary dark machine appeared to be a moving prison. 

I was in a trans of wonder when from behind me came a man who opened the barred rear door and pushed me inside slamming it shut.  I could feel the air sucked out of me as I felt the heavy clank when the bar came down locking me inside with no escape.  Where was she?  Where was my angel, or what I thought might be the other part of me?  I needed help. I could see no escape from this horror. 

First it was the dark pied piper man and his little fleet of children of the damned with their vast fields showing me all my losses, to the little girl from somewhere who led me to the black Auschwitz on wheels!  Now I was afraid.  Fear gripped every cell in my body when abruptly a different compartment door opened and several foreign men appeared in chains.  I did not belong there and I knew it.  Why was I with these people? And then the truck began moving and a window on each side of the vehicle mechanically slid away opening the heavy metal plates to expose heavy glass windows.  I thought at the least now we could see where we were being taken.  No one spoke but me.  No one answered me, they just stared ahead, sometimes out the window, never looking at me. 

Once again, I thought they may be dead.  Why were all those dead people surrounding me? Why all this negative light around me?  I had no choice but to sit and look out the window trying to decipher what would be next. I wanted to scream with terror because I hated being locked up especially in a small area knowing I could never escape the iron walls of what had become my personal prison.  Why?  Suddenly I lost who I was or where I came from. I had lost my identity and become nothing more than those empty men who couldn’t speak for themselves, who were lost, maybe dead? Yet alive.  Like me, yes, they were like me.  I had given up after losing my inheritance and struggling to maintain life surrounded by people with no purpose, no drive, no reason to live. 

Then out the window in the midst of my trance while discovering the why’s of my situation I see the ocean ahead.  It was coming closer and closer as was my terror.  I had always had a fear of going into the water in a locked vehicle and there it was coming to fruition.  The truck sped up and I knew this was the end.  I didn’t have time to think on whether my light would be bright or dim or what dimension I would end up in or how much I would suffer or how fast the water would come in.  Would I float as high as I could to the ceiling begging for one more breath of air struggling just as I had before this day working, toiling to make ends meet, striving for one more breath to keep living?  Not seeing there was a way out but I didn’t take it.  Afraid to take it. 

And then we were airborne!  We flew off the edge of a cliff and were descending like a rock toward the ocean floor.   I was dizzy from agonizing paralyzing fear.  The men didn’t move because they had given up on life but I hadn’t.  That is when she appeared again pointing to the window.  The little me from 1923 telling me there was a way out and it wasn’t as hard as I had thought. 

I turned, pushed on the window pane as though time had stood still and gravity was not in force.  The window popped out more easily than it should have been possible to do. (That is usually how it is but we can’t always see it.)  Centrifugal force pulled me out in a nano second of time!  I was free flying toward the water…….

I woke up from that dream screaming and crying.  Then laughing out loud at the wonderment of the Universe to give me a dream so vivid it relayed to me what was happening in my own life and how to rectify it.   There is always HOPE and HELP from the Universe to get us through our down times and back to the sunshine and smiles.

  I got my humor and direction back!  Thank you to my own spirit and that of the others who came to my earthly rescue through that amazing dream.  It was given to me in the form of a spiritual movie.  Sort of like there are two different ways to learn mathematics.  Earth and Spirit are the same.  I was told I need to balance them more and never forget the Spirit because I can’t see my answer in the flesh.   To always look beyond for your answers.  Be safe....   

Are You an Uppie or an Undie...................by Julianna Rowe

Me, I'm an Uppie! Not a young and upcoming Entrepreneur, but an Uppie. Using Podie Paper (on) Inteneded End. That is putting toilet paper where it unrolls topside. Some people like it to unroll downside....nope, it gets lost that way. And it is just simply wrong! Have you ever needed IT and IT is not to be found. How does one lean, bend, and then have to sometimes turn sideways and then bend and turn again and IT is stuck on the backside...no not thy backside, ITS backside. At this point if you or I need to be to work or somewhere, you spin IT... Nothing....You spin IT again....nothing...IT is STUCK and so are you. What to do? Next time replace IT as an Uppie not an Undie. Undie's get STUCK don't they? All puns intended. Ever been walking and undie is stuck? Sure you have. Seeing people unstick the undie isn't good. Problem is? Your toilet paper, or tissue paper, lavoratory paper, podie paper, or corn cobs, Sears catalog, whatever one uses, IT sticks, makes you late, makes you mad, makes you stuck if you don't figure IT out. So, are you an uppie and an undie? Personally, which obviously I am not too personal or I wouldn't share so much! Hey I'm honest and open to a degree, but then to what degree is the question? Most folks don't discuss their bathroom issues. Why not, we all have them. They are normal. Well undie rollers aren't normal in my estimation or blog estimation anyway. Maybe they are Republicans, or Dems. Whom-ever you think is worse! I do wonder what the statistics would say? imustbedreaming.wordpress.com

Penny Loafers.............by Julianna Rowe

 Penny Loafers.....  

I was so excited to get my 1960's brown leather penny loafers to wear this fall with my cool jeans and flannel shirts.  

Sometimes it takes me more than once to learn a lesson as most of my friends can attest to considering my relationships of past which cost me way more than these VERY poor imitation of the photo I thought I was ordering. 

When searching GOOGLE for these priceless brown loafers I found a sight called Floralmoda.com.  What I did not learn was any sight that says USD ahead of the price....DO NOT BUY or even entertain the thought of it. 

Altogether my purchase was $50.00 of which I will never see again.  What I received gave me and my family a lot of laughs to say the least.  

The package came today and I was so excited.  I opened it in front of my son and his fiancé.  I screamed.  He laughed. And she said.

"Never buy anything with USD in front of the price."

I repeated that so you all get the lesson the first time.

They are rubber and sewn on a regular sewing machine.  

These are the poorest excuse of a shoe and they smell bad.  Like chemicals.  I suspect the pattern is cut out of a large piece of rubber or plastic before being sewn.  I can only hope I learn this and a couple other lessons before I check out from this planet.  I am so embarrassed.  And angry.  That is a lot of money.   Then we all laughed.

Fifty Shades of Illegal...............by Julianna Rowe

How the system of bad-good guys uses people who have made errors to further themselves.

They take people who have made mistakes and turn them into money making monkeys.  Scientifically at times.  Put them in corporate concentration camps called prisons.  Give them menial medical attention.  Let them die as in Oushwitz, Germany as in Hitler..  The Corp-orations are nothing more than gassing people in  these prisons.  Horrible people run these places.  And where horrible people are horrible things happen.  Where troubled people are, trouble happens.  There is no rehabilitation!!  Only agitation and humiliation and degradation. The Warden that gets the job is the one that saves the corp the most money. He is truly the loser but that wont show until the hereafter because there really is such a thing as KARMA you sons of bad mothers..... 

To right the wrong system is possible.  :Merely costs big bucks only corps have.  So they win each round.  You can try to sue them but JUDGES let the cases sit on their desks forever.  They laugh at the incarcerated.  They enjoy the medieval grandstands of killing and hate while they eat grapes and have sex with their women and drink wine.  We have not evolved from those times and as I see it never will.  We must use each other up the way we are! (As my Papa Joe always said)  Stay under the radar.....don't rock the boat of anyone more powerful that thyself....  Not so smart.  Seek the spiritual word is my only advice.  Don't type any key words Google can send to the government because they are doing just that, searching the key words..  I can type something in an email and the next day I get an email advertising of reference regarding it.  So I know they caught the key words. 

My point?   Prison system is horrid.  Avoid it like eboli virus or COVID19!  Nothing is worse then being in a cage and no one comes with the help you truly need.  UNLESS YOU HAVE  ENOUGH MONEY.....  Don't say sad.  Just get the damn money and make it happen.  Go with the flow of fifty shades of illegal.....  Turn it around like the movie story did.  Turn it around.  Thank You God for opening the bars for my son Daniel R. Hull.  He is as wise a man as Paul.  Well maybe not quite, but a good man with much to offer on the outside. 

I found this poem written by a Judge Dennis Chaleen. 

                               Prisoners

We want them to have self worth, so we destroy their self worth.

To be responsible, so we take away all responsibility

To be part of our community, so we isolate them from the community

To be positive and constructive, so we degrade them and make them useless

To be non violent, so we put them where there is violence all around

To be kind and loving people, so we subject them to hatred and cruelty

To quit being tough guys, so we put them where the tough guy is respected

To quit hanging around losers, so we put all the losers under one roof

To quit exploiting us, so we put them where they exploit each other

We want them to take control of their own lives own their own problems and quit being parasites, so we make them totally dependent on us

Death..............by Julianna Rowe

Death.  Is it the end or the new beginning?  I hope its like the story of the Dragonflies: Dragonfly nymphs live in the water while they grow and develop into dragonflies. This portion of the dragonfly life cycle can take up to four years to complete.  And when they have developed to a certain life phase they leave their water family and friends to fly away to another world. Their water family WONDERs where they went.   Just like we WONDER where our people go when they pass on in death. 

Today my friend died. That is her on the right. 

I feel bad for myself because she added some very special things to my life.  She taught me to keep giving love even though I had been hurt so badly.  She taught me to be gracefully still and watch for good to come forth.  She was gentle yet strong, carried herself with compassion, courage, and ease.  Everyone that met her loved her even though she told me she didn't understand why.  That her mother had taught her at an young age that she was unlovable.  Yet before she passed on she was shown by many in this life how much she was loved. 

She always thought of the other person first.  She had values yet strayed from them on occasion and we would laugh and discuss those times trying to make good from them.   She was honest. She was tenacious like I used to be. She taught me to get out of my self made cardboard box and live. To be brave. That it wasn't a coffin all nailed shut, rather a box I could step out of.  Yet she ended up the one in the coffin, not me.  She had integrity. She was intelligent and could shut down any discussion using her beliefs and her wise words. 

She loved her grandson to the moon.  Wanted to live just one more month to see him get his black belt.  She singlehandedly had gotten him that far.  She wanted to live for him.  He is only twelve.  

We grew up as neighbors me being six years her senior.  Our mothers were much alike as were our fathers.  She told me she always looked up to me.  The teenager with a horse who gave her a ride one day.  Said she never forgot it.  She gave me back way more than I ever gave her. in my mind anyway.  She never preached to me, rather she showed me by how she lived.  She was a flannel shirt and blue jeans lady but one of the most beautiful women inside and out I had ever known and I needed her and she is gone.  Selfish?  Maybe.  Its been a very long year in my life and she came into it in the middle of what most would say a learning time. I have to believe that or I might die of the pain it caused my soul and spirit.  I learned she was enduring the same pain and grief I was.  One day after she told me she had stage 4 pancreatic cancer I sent her this message. The one about Thelma and Louise.  We laughed like she was never going to die.  We prayed for her to live two more years but life only gave her two months.  

She was in love for the first time in her life.  They were making plans to be together but that never came to life. He may not have been my choice for her but he was her choice and I respected that.   We would talk about him for hours.  

There were other men that loved her just from seeing her photo and talking politics with her or any other subject.  She could hold the floor yet was tender like a man likes a woman to be.  She was not weak, no, I said tender.  Loving and caring and giving of herself.  Always giving. She rarely cried.   I cried all the time this past year.  She taught me not to cry anymore....To get out of the house and join the world again.  To work on retrieving the old me.  The happy lady who was giving and caring.  Yet she didn't belittle me for loving someone for many years that didn't love me like I felt  I should be. 

She told me she loved me.  And she did. And I loved her as the friend she had become in our later years.  We shared so many similar life issues.  

I didn't think she was finished with life.  But someone higher up said she was. 

I selfishly cry even though I believe she flies free.