For Evelyn: In Memorium

I was a farmer’s daughter in the Depression, so in a way I was lucky;

My father was an asshole, so in another way I wasn’t;

My four sisters and I drank beer, smoked cigarettes and danced the jitterbug;

My mother died in my arms when I was 15;

Norman went to the war when he was 17; we weren’t together yet;

I was married in 1950, with a feather in my traveling suit hat;

My husband’s French Canadian family didn’t like me because I was Portuguese;

My husband went off to two more wars; I lived in France, Vietnam with two children;

I lived on military bases, in Fall River, and in Virginia in a big white house with white pillars (I loved that house);

I always lived on the East Coast, I lived in Florida; maybe I was trying to get closer to Portugal;

I loved bowls of fruit salad, Sanka decaf instant, crab legs, chorizo, playing Hearts; I once had a wicked bowling hook;

I called Bingo at the church every Sunday evening for 25 years;

I smoked cigarettes half my life and finally stopped;

I had two grandchildren who called me Meme; two great-grandchildren who called me Great-Meme and a third on the way—we missed each other by two months;

I loved Cher; clothes, jewelry, teddy bears, Victorian dolls, being right; I should have been a fashion designer, a dancer like Ann Miller;

Four years ago I lost my husband; two years ago I lost my left breast; five months ago they set my alarm;

How strange it is when you know it’s coming and you’re not in control;

A month ago I was helped into diapers by my children;

At the end all I wanted was watermelon juice, the Game Show Channel, and my coffeetable book of Cher;

In the last moment I was dreaming that the tide came in, returning me to the water.

Feb 6, 2009