I haven't posted in two weeks. Somehow it seemed either a means of revenge or (if only knitting related), frivolous.
On Friday night, February 6, a friend of mine was murdered. Not a "random act of violence"; her boyfriend shot her. And the friend she was with. And then the SOB shot himself.
Deb was a force to be reckoned with. Vibrant, pretty, strong, funny, annoying, more than opinionated. She was a successful lawyer and an actor. She also played trombone and euphonium. Her politics were nearly the polar opposite of mine; we agreed to disagree long ago. She was well-bred, generous to a fault, kind, rude, and infuriating. Human, in other words.
It's been years since we were in regular communication, but we were aware of one another. She was one of the first people in my New York crowd to make friends and she never lost sight of me.
A mutual friend e-mailed me late last week about her memorial service. That's how I found out. I took a bus in on the day it was held and came back the next afternoon.
We celebrated (yes, life is for celebrating) her life and her quirks at a good dive bar. Her movies played on a loop (bad commercials, too...she did have a great sense of humor) and we ate and drank and remembered.
I still can't believe she's actually dead, or that the bastard who shot her did so. He must have been carrying concealed. It was the Sabbath, so he'd've known where to find her, and that he'd be able to let himself in. It's all so very wrong.