Hello, Chaos, My Old Friend

In a flop sweat, I text Charlotte.

"OMG.  My new everlasting horror. When our family funeral home people go to embalm him they will see that #@%&(*^ tattoo!"

"Oh my."  she replies. "I'd forgotten all about that."

Yes, that.  The freaking tattoo of my face, distorted as only a tattoo artist can do, on his scrawny pathetic, now rigor mortis inflicted leg.

I want to call my cousin and explain. I did no know he was getting the tattoo. I had dumped him prior to the tattoo. I specifically disavow the tattoo. If there had been legal recourse to have the tattoo forcibly removed, I would have spent every penny.  Please do not think I was a party to it. It makes me as sick as it makes them. (But not nearly as amused I am sure.)

In the meantime, Kate has called. Ever the optimist. "Hey, I ran into Joy. She told me about J. Bummer. What are you doing this weekend?" 

I call her back. I tell her that honestly I feel nothing even close to sorrow, just something that resembles pity.  And empathy for his girls. But other than that, it was just one more event of the day.

And then I tell her about the tattoo. Each time I say the words in my head it gets funnier, because it is far stranger than fiction and no one would believe it if they had not lived through my initial horror.

Always on the bright side of the moon, Kate assures me that J.'s leg was probably all skinny and hangy and misshapen by now and no one would recognize my face anyway. They'd think it was his next girlfriend (had there been one) and that she must have had a wicked case of Bells Palsy.

I am relieved to hear that and laughing out loud about it now. This is what friends are for.

I think about sending J.'s older daughter a text when I arrive at home. I want to reach out to her. She is probably the one with the most mixed emotions, considering all the turmoil she'd had in her relationship with her father the last few years, as she asserted herself as the young woman she was becoming.

Later that night, she and I do exchange texts. And then I take to my e-mail account and send a message to Sandy.

"Hello, Sandy - I am sure this has been quite a time for you and the girls. I can't imagine your mixed emotions after all that has happened these last few years. And I am sure the girls are dealing with so many thoughts and feelings. Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you all. I have been in touch with both of the girls. They are so brave and so mature. Such gems. I am sure you will all be fine because of each other.

I would like to send a card to the girls from Hil and Pat and me.  I don't believe I have your current address. If you are comfortable providing it, I will send it off this weekend.

Best of luck coping with the events of the next few days and weeks ahead. You will remain in my prayers.

Fondly, Liza

At 4 am, I receive a reply.

"Thank you, Liza. And I would like to have that drink we talked about. I will call and hopefully you will still be OK to chat.

The girls are good. What a ride it has been.

You are a lovely person and I would like to get to know you.

She includes her address. And I feel lucky to be excluded from what she is surely about to deal with. J.'s mother has long been the mayor of Crazy Town and his sister is her deputy.  The insanity of a family funeral is hard to deal with under the best of circumstances. But this will be full on pandemonium. It is coming like the dawn, and the sun is setting on all the peace and tranquility Sandy and her girls had achieved.