I’m going to share a memory with you.

I don’t know if it’s my best memory of my cousin, Norma, but it’s the one that immediately comes to mind. Norma and a friend came to Chicago when I was in law school (1999 IIRC). We were barhopping in the Rush Street district, which was a popular weekend spot back then. Frankie Valli, a singer well-known for his small acting and large musical roles in Grease, was walking the streets, and Norma and her friend caught his eye. He was hitting on them. I was standing close by to make sure they were okay, which almost resulted in a fist fight with one of his security guards. He kept placing his hand on my chest, and I kept swatting it away. Everything worked out, though. That 60+ year old pervert didn’t get laid that night. Well, at least not by my 29/30-year old cousin. I didn’t follow him around. (EDIT: I added more to this story on tomorrow’s post.)

Last Thursday, Norma died of the same cancer that killed a handful of people in our extended family. I found out on Saturday and found her obituary at about noon today. The most difficult part of being estranged from one’s nuclear family is the loss of people who you still love. Norma was wonderful, and I loved her very much. She was only a year younger than I, but I could never imagine outliving her. I wish I could have said goodbye, not only to her but to a couple others who’ve died, but this is a consequence you sometimes must accept to keep yourself safe and sane. Leaving ties gives them a way to sneak in and do damage, and asking the ones you love to make a choice between you and the ones that harm you is not a fair thing to do. As far as I’m concerned, this is just one more thing they’ve taken from me. I’m a far happier and healthier person in general, but not today.

RIP, Norma Patricia. I love you.

Frankie will never mess with you on my watch.

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