I still think of Pam a lot, and just today, as I was cleaning out my garage office, sorting books into boxes destined for the library or Salvation Army, I pulled out a book and thought, "Wow, Pam sure tolerated me with my whimsies - whether it be writing or spinning yarn."
That's Pam. She was always ready to listen to my latest story, waiting to hear when I was done writing my great fantasy novel (which, I just realized, is still sitting in the far reaches of my brain), or hear about my latest spinning wool adventure. She always made that call whenever I forgot because, well, I was just too forgetful.
I was always happy she remembered. Every month, she'd call to catch up and let me know how she was doing, and even when she was not doing well, you'd never know it. She always kept herself busy, raising money at the L.A. Marathon to benefit her favorite place to heal in the South Bay.
When I last saw Pam, I had gone to her house to pick up our old massage school manual which she had saved. She was lending it to me, but when I got there, she said that she wouldn't be around anyway, and she wanted me to have it. She was so happy to hear that I was teaching massage at the local college, and she hoped that by her saving the manual (she said she saved everything - though seeing her house, you wouldn't know it, like, say, my house, where you see remnants of last week's dinner, probably saved by accident under the couch) it would benefit me and my students.
|Pam and Michael|
Four weeks later, Pam was gone. And less than a year later, Michael followed and I hope they are together now, watching over me as I think about both of them and wondering what she'd say of my latest efforts at cleaning up the messy house, or setting aside books and stuff to give away to charity. Or about my latest Duffers, knitted felted slippers that I made 3 pairs of which one of them I thought would be perfect for her - before I caught myself and realized that she is no longer around to wear them.
But I'm sure she would have liked them.