Nelda, We Hardly Knew Ye

She was ebullient, beautiful and bossy.  She'd burst into a Spanish song without notice and then translate the lyrics for us, whether we were interested or not.  She would not hesitate to ask people to move out of the seat she'd "claimed" by leaving something on the table in front of it.  She'd talk on and on but get annoyed if she stopped and someone else began talking.

And she was a drama queen.  When she was upset about something (or usually, someone), she'd literally take to the couch, moaning, all the while proclaiming that she didn't want us to worry about her, that we should just eat and laugh as usual.  Eventually she would, faintly, ask for a bite of food or a drink of water, delighting in the way friends would scatter to meet her needs.

So why do we miss her so much?

She had the hugest of hearts.  She'd be the first to cry with you over the death of your pet whom she'd never met.  She dispensed hugs more often than she dispensed prescription meds.  She'd bring a present for any occasion, or just "because".  She rejoiced when one of us had something good happen to us.

More than food or drink, she loved music and dancing and laughter.  She could never stay sad for long and would laugh louder and longer than anyone else once her tears dried.  She's the person you'd expect to see dancing on the bar before night's end and you'd know it wasn't because of alcohol - she got high on life.

Her exuberance was infectious.  And when she cared about you, you knew she cared from the bottom of her enormous heart.  Yes, she had faults and quirks and eccentricities, as all of us do.  I see that as a positive.  After all, when we truly love someone, we love them not only in spite of their flaws, but because of them, too.  After all, most of our flaws are flip sides of our virtues - you don't get one without the other.

So her delight in being the center of attention was simply a component of her larger-than-life personality,   her dramatics a way of embracing life to the fullest, her bossiness a way of corralling all of us who were "hers".

Today, I'd happily cede my chair to her, even if she hadn't "claimed" it.  I'd be delighted to hear those torch song lyrics translated again.  And I'd let her talk the entire hour if she wanted to.  But what would be truly wonderful would be if I had the luxury of knowing she'd be doing those things again and again - the luxury of being able, occasionally, to be irritated by them.