Yesterday, I posted about the death of my cousin, Norma. As I continue to parse out my feelings on the matter, I decided to supplement that post with a couple of other things.
First, with respect to the Frankie Valli story, when Norma and her friend disengaged from Frankie, I told her what almost happened. She reminded me that, while she was (of course) appreciative of my concern, she wasn’t stupid. She was an adult and knew what was going on and would never have gone anywhere with the guy. She understood that I wasn’t upset with her behavior but rather concerned with his, and that leads to point number two.
Everyone fights with everyone else. Everyone gets frustrated with everyone else. This is perfectly normal, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it, even in the unfortunate instance that your anger or frustration is the last thing you experience before losing someone. What isn’t normal? Norma never once made me angry. Or frustrated. I never even surreptitiously rolled my eyes at her. She simply never annoyed me at all, and if I ever annoyed her, she never told me so. This is certainly not a testament to my character; it’s a testament to hers. Plenty of people annoy me, and plenty more are annoyed by me. I’ve never heard anyone speak poorly of anything Norma did or said. She really was someone you couldn’t help but love.
RIP, Norma.
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[…] 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.) […]
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