July 8, 2023
Dear Marianne:
I was so sorry to hear about your passing. Put on big girl panties and said: well, you are at peace now, up in heaven with your mother, your aunt Judy, your father. Other family members. I made myself okay with your passing, because I guess that’s what I do when someone dies. I make myself okay. Cry. Dry my eyes and say they are at rest.
But hours after hearing the news, as the night grows longer, I realize that I’m not that okay with you leaving. Sometimes you don’t understand a depth of a relationship until the relationship ends.
I knew I considered you a friend, a confidante, admiring your spunk, your skillset, your wisdom and intelligence and how great of a writer you were. I’d hoped, openly and silently, that you would sit down and write that novel about growing up in "114" (Queens, NY Area Code) during the 70’s. I knew you could do. I knew you possessed everything you needed to craft it.
When Lonnie introduced us, by way of facebook, many years ago, I was happy to make your acquaintance. Though you were a journalist and I, an author, we had a lot of commonality in our pursuit of obtaining our dreams. We had similar ‘war’ stories about the world of ‘putting the pen to pad’ for all the world to see. I think it was you who told me that we both breathed ‘rarified air’—attaining success with the words we put on the page, where hundreds of thousands got to read them. I agreed, remarking that the cool thing about being a published writer was, our words would live on long after we were gone.
I never thought you’d be gone so soon. Always envisioned meeting up with you on Queens Blvd, near the court house in Kew Gardens, face-to-face, for the first time. That is the crazy thing. We never got the chance to meet in person, but our souls were connected.
I still hear you giving me advice about things. How you were the only person I allowed to call me “Mags.” The first time I took offense. But by the third, I embraced it, like I embraced the other moniker you gave me for our "Friday Night R&B Lyric Challenge" on facebook. You crowned me “Home Skillet” after a few wins under my belt and I wore that name proudly.
No, we didn’t talk every day, but connected often on facebook and by phone. Realizing that such moments will never come again has me teary-eyed.
Friday nights will never be the same. I know I will still check my in-box for messages from you, saddened when no new ones come. I will miss you, my dear friend. We will all miss you. You were a wonderful human being, of which I was happy to call a ‘Sister in Writing,’ among other things. But I will try and find comfort in the fact that you are at true peace now. Thank you for being a friend.
Love,
Mags aka "Home Skillet" ❤