Topsy Turvy

Before today’s celebration of my friend’s life, I was worried about seeing her family. What if her sisters looked just like her? And what if she herself wasn’t there? I mean, I haven’t seen her for several months, she must be busy, but this is a big event, she’ll be here. Well, there were two sisters, and of course they look just like her, and, what’s more, they and many of her friends were wearing her plaid flannel shirts, or at least similar ones, as an acknowledgment, a tip of the hat, to her comfortable style. So here are all these white-haired women in flannel shirts appearing and disappearing out of the corners of my eyes. I was sure, so many times, that this charade was over and she was finally at the party, late but radiant. That happens sometimes when people die who you don’t normally see every day; you just keep thinking they’re gonna show up sooner or later. You weren’t present for the transition, you didn’t see the devastating changes, they are just late, or indisposed, or there, look—a familiar blue plaid flannel shirt at the edges of your vision.