Yellow Ducks & Jean Marie

I normally pack everything meticulously.
Somehow, the mini-mac's mouse didn't get put in the "mac bag" along with everything else related to the Mac.
Only two boxes remain to be opened from my time in Raleigh.

Trucking out in the heat to the shed this morning, I chose the easy one. The one marked "Phones & OC Toys."
In the top was a bag of ducks. Anyone who knows me and the big tub that bathes me knows I like rubber duckies that float.
As I was pulling out little duckies, all yellow, two with inner tubes around them, I said to myself, "I need a big duck boat or something to hold all these duckies."
The next thing that came out was the Big Mother Duck, whose rear end holds all the other duckies, including a mysterious one that plays music, lights up, and appears to have a fan in its - well, under its tail.

Under the ducks was Jean Marie's Obituary. I read it. Again.

Having been with the family for six months, I've not yet been able to wrap my brain around my darling friend's death.
I am grateful to her that she had decided I would be staying. She knew I would. To deal with all the matters of death and the cumbersome paperwork that accompanies it. It was bizarre how much needed doing.
Even in her letter to me she stated, "I knew the time was right, because you are there. I know you'll see to the children."
Sneaky ol' Bitch. She waited until I arrived on the 28th of October and slipped away 3 nights later to commit suicide.

I can't imagine how the two teenagers must feel, these 8 months later. They don't talk about it much. Neither do I.

I loved that woman with an incredible passion and celebrated her life with her every chance we got in the 25 years we knew one another.
We had an unusual and close relationship. On occasion, it had to be determined who was the bigger Bitch. We had a Bitch Scale.
Now, I'm the biggest Bitch by default. That is not nearly as much fun as the game.
Yet the missing and mourning have still not set in.
I expect it one day soon, hopefully not while I'm driving down the highway in what used to be the family's car, Blackberry.

But today, while hunting mouses and telephones, I found the last official story written about her.
Her Obituary.
I wrote it. Her Brother, Bruce, helped me edit it. The children and her husband, Jim, added their notes to her.
It was and is a beautiful Obit. I still can't believe it was written for our Jean Marie.

If I could talk to her today, I'd tell her what a Bitch she was.
Checking out early without notice.
But, I accept that she could no longer bear her pains, look forward to her dreams, nor accept the reality that was crumbling around her.
Her suicide was incredulously painful for her family and for her close friends. Yet I will always support her right to choose her own path.
I miss her. Tears came when I wrote those last three words. It's tough to see the keyboard now, even with my new glasses.

I would not trade for anything the experience of being with her family for six months.
It was hard and creepy and unfathomable at times.
It was hilarious and eccentric and frequently wonderfully goofy.
I cannot believe she would have wanted to miss her after-party.

The Bitch.

With love, Uncle Ricky