Two years ago today my very first BFF ever, Miss Missy Melissa Ringster, died in her home, surrounded by her family and her cats. She spent years living with cancer that most doctors dismissed as the ranting complaints of a fat woman who really just needed to get up and exercise. I was honored to be with Missy for her first radiation treatment after her cancer returned, and less the a month later honored again to return and hold her hand and talk about God and Heaven and her recently-deceased fiancé (with whom she was having long conversations) and to stay with the beautiful and generous Gaytha Watley. Missy taught me a great deal about myself by revealing her pain and fears to me. Yes, she was in great physical pain, but her emotional pain was worse. She fluctuated between feeling betrayed by family (for not telling her of James death, despite their best of intentions for not doing so) and fearing that God would not accept her into his arms because until our talks she hadnt bothered to question his existence. But perhaps most of all was watching my friend, my beautiful friend who loved to wear red lipstick when she had her blonde hair, and even later when her hair was gone and she wore the blonde bangs her sister made for her with the hats I knitted for her giant noggin as she put it, lay in a hospital bed crying because she was going to die in a body she hated. She was heavy - as heavy as I was prior to my lap band, perhaps a bit more. But she was beautiful - inside and out. She had a gorgeous face - even tear-stained and altered by the tumors growing on her skull - and a stunning soul shined out her eyes and radiated around her entire person. She had a delightfully fun personality. She found joy in just about everything - except her body. During those last two visits, I was down nearly 200 pounds from my pre-operation weight, and she cried about that. I cried that I could do nothing to help her. Nine days after I left her at Kaiser, she died at home. I thought Id already mourned the loss of my friend - brain cancer alters - destroys really - the essence of a person, although her wicked sense of humor remained, mixed with dementia; but that night I sat in my bathtub sobbing. The day after she died, Quentin Killian placed the first of what would become many tattoos on my abdomen. Out of humiliation it was the one (okay the bigger - I also hadnt had my @ss tattooed yet) part of me not touched by ink. I had scars - both physical and emotional about that part of my anatomy, but I realized, unlike Missy, I could do something. I might regain weight (and indeed Ive packed 70 pounds back on, mostly through purging) but I should be comfortable in and proud of my body. So we added one of the tattoos Missy had, and added one (by the same artist, Camille Rose Garcia) to either side of my lower abdomen. I dont think Quentin or myself knew where that would lead: probably a good 100 hours and a year + later, we had covered my entire stomach. Each addition has been a tribute to Missy. Since that time, Sydney Wirtzfeld has added her touches on my ribs and my girdle, and Billy Joe Shedd of Atlas Tattoo has added to my breasts. And recently I even had my navel pierced by Julie Shedd, also with Atlas Tattoo. Missy wanted to, but could never bring herself to get it done because fat is ugly. Again - all these alterations are in honor of my body and my journey and in loving memory of one of the most amazing people anyone has had the privilege to know. Today Gaytha remembers Missy. Many people remember Missy. She was a BFF to many; an inspiration to even more. So heres some current pics. I miss you Miss Missy Melissa and I love you, then, now and forevermore. Rest in Peace baby - I believe you are in a celestial body that is perfect and your are re-joined with those who left you before you left us. XOs ad infinitum.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 03:09:03 +0000
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