Life is a War of Attrition

     ... and we're all guaranteed to lose it.

     Which leaves me wondering, "Who or what is the winner?"

     2023 has been, for me, the worst year of all time. And, if you're so disposed, let me just head you off at the pass and tell you that you can stick your, "Suck it up" and "Stop whining" and shove it up your ass. When life has subtracted from one human life what it has from me this year, you and anyone would be entitled to gripe about it. Let's take stock:

     Last March 8th, I had to put my poor girlfriend in the hospital when she got COVID. Two days after her admission, I found out a dear friend of ours had died of a sudden heart attack in February. The following month, I had my own (second) heart attack, one that nearly killed me. The following month, the cocksuckers at UMass Memorial Hospital in Marlborough, MA and the court in Lowell put her in the nursing home that wound up killing her in September. When they kidnapped her and murdered her, they also stole her Social Security, which will result in my eventual eviction.

     The day I found out Barbara died, I saw an old friend of mine I've known for 43 years has ALS.

     We're all dying of heart attacks, strokes and ALS.

     Then just minutes ago, I get a DM on Facebook out of the blue from another friend I've also known for decades, who'd also had a stroke years ago, that my first girlfriend, Katie, recently passed away. She, too, had had a stroke years ago and she also never fully recovered.

     I never knew that Katie was even on Facebook until just now. She'd set up three accounts and, typical of her, never made a serious go at any of them. So, why didn't she reach out to me?

     Barbara was barely aware of Katie's existence. We'd spoken on the phone a few times but that was many years ago, long before her stroke. By then, she was living in Franconia, New Hampshire and was apparently happy there living among the mountains that Robert Frost loved so much.

     But Katie was special. She was my first. She was the girl who took my virginity in 1979. And even before I could coherently string two sentences together, like Barbara, Katie was always in amazement of my alleged writing abilities. She believed in me, admired me. When they go through her personal effects, they'll find some old poems and letters I'd written her over the decades.

     And, because she was my first and occupied such an outsized position in my life, being the mother of my first child, she was the bane of every girlfriend I'd ever had since until Barbara. Barb wasn't the jealous sort. And, again, for reasons I can't fathom, Katie was almost completely out of my life so Barb had no cause to worry.

     But all this backstory doesn't give you any insight into what kind of woman Katie was. She was one of a kind. She was so complicated that I never based a character on her in any of my novels for the simple reason that I didn't think I could do justice to her. I could anticipate what she'd say in most any situation. I just couldn't fathom why.

     She was always one canvas tent revival away from being one of those holy roller nutbags (and her sparely-used FB wall shows posts devoted to one church or another) and that was always a bone of contention between us. She always felt in her heart of hearts that I was going to one day come around and accept Jesus into my heart. And I'd tell her that would happen when Pat Buchanan would be the Grand Marshal for Provincetown's Pride Parade.

     Katie was also absolutely resolute in her belief that I'd make something of myself as a writer.

     Katie's faith in people was often misplaced. But her heart was always in the right place.

     She had a wild hair across her ass about her own lack of education (what passed for Special Ed in the 50s and 60s was woefully inadequate and the system did fail her) and people not taking her seriously because of it. She was always competing with people who had degrees ("professional people" she'd say with a sneer, not altogether without just cause) just to let them know book learning didn't necessarily equate with street smarts or emotional intelligence. And, of course, she was right.

     And for about 15 years, she was beset by the professional people of what used to be known as the Department of Social Services, an organization that never never met a family they didn't want to break up. They took away her first son then successfully took away her last three all on dodgy, unfounded and unproven accusations.

     Katie had the misfortune of seeing her third child die of a drug overdose in New Jersey, no doubt scarred from being taken from the home at a very young age. They even cast their baleful gaze at me and submitted me to a rigorous battery of psychological tests in order to prove that I was the phantom pedophile they were looking for (Katie and her husband put me up right after my wife and I separated).

     But Katie loved her kids to pieces. She was an excellent mother and I was always in awe of her abilities and dedication to her children. Full stop.

     And Katie really loved Christmas. No matter how tight money was, and it was always tight for her, she always magically found the money to buy gifts for all her loved ones. So it's poignant that she died just before Christmas and won't live to see just one more.

     So, Katie, until my own time comes, just wait for me. You, Barb and I will have one fascinating conversation in the afterlife.