September 4th, 2010 by Regina Brett
My friend Monica died this morning.
Some people, when you meet them, it's like a Kodak moment. Snap! You never forget the second they stepped into your life. I met Monica at a reception at a fundraiser for the Cleveland Rape Crisis Center.
She had black hair, dark eyes, lipstick that matched her purse, shoes and fingernails, and had an energy that lit up the room. What a human sparkler. She made everyone around her feel just as bright.
Monica left Cleveland for D.C a year or so ago and started up her own company. I was sitting in a book signing at a Costco in May when her aunt stopped by and said, "Did you hear about Monica?" I hadn't.
Monica had a headache that wouldn't go away. It turned out to be brain cancer. She had to close up her business and move back to Cleveland for treatments. When they did tests, they found cancer everywhere, her brain, her spine, her abdomen, her lungs. She called me the night before brain surgery. "I haven't even lived yet," she said. "I'm only 38."
From May til today, she fought like hell to live. She bounced back from brain surgery, from chemo, from brain radiation, from physical therapy to walk again, from every side effect and set back cancer threw at her.
It's so sad to lose someone who was such a light in this world, and in mine. Monica always greeted me with, "Hi, doll." She's the only one in the world who called me doll. She made me feel so special. That was one of her superpowers. To make others feel special.
She always reminded me to "carry as you climb." Bring others with you up the ladder. Share the journey.
Thank you, Monica, for sharing yours.
September 2nd, 2010 by Regina Brett
My grandma's house always felt like the most joyful place on earth. She kept a drawer full of giant lollipops and candy for us to empty every time we visited. At grammas, we always got our own bottle of pop and a giant bowl of the greasiest, saltiest potato chips.
She was Slovak, spoke broken English and always wore an apron, the full-sized kind that covered her dress. She also wore support stockings that ended up rolled up in a donut around her calves. Her long gray hair was twisted in a bun and fastened with dozens of pins shaped like skinny U's.
Looking back, her heart was my home. I always felt most loved around her and in that house on the farm. She taught me how to plant green beans and water them from the rain barrel. She taught me how to color Easter eggs with wax designs. She crocheted doilies and left them to us as her legacy. But her real legacy I discovered the other day when my grandbaby came to visit.
Asher is only 1 1/2, but when he came to my house after not being here for two weeks, he ran to the living room, rested his head on the couch and sighed. Then he ran over to the big chair where I read to him, rested his head on the cushion and sighed. Then he ran to the shelf where I display all his books, grabbed each one and said, "Wow! Wow! Wow!"
I hope my house, and my heart, feel like home to him.