On Maggie, Money and the blogger tip jar

For the past few years I've been writing a lot about death.  And grief.  And it hasn't been by choice really, although as I get older it does seem, in a way, that that is what this world is all about: figuring out how to deal with the fact that people are going to die before us and before we are ready to let them go.  Last night, sitting in a bar with a friend I hadn't seen in ten years, we were talking about losing our parents, and how unprepared we are for it.  My friend said, "I wanted to call all my friends who had lost their parents and apologize to them for having thought I understood."

I was in New York for a memorial of my friend Maggie Estep who died in February.  It was, for everyone, the kind of loss that causes you to rethink your steps.  It was the kind of loss that feels distinctly personal, because Maggie was the kind of person who connected with a great number of people on a uniquely personal and individual level.  And so I've been wanting to write about it, but unable to write about it, a state that has contribute to some inconsistent blogging over the past five years.  Do I want to write again about the deaths of both of my parents, several dogs, several friends and, almost, myself as well?  Not really, but what else do I have to say?  So I keep hitting "pause."

Is there such a thing as a memorial that is not emotionally intense?  Probably not.  Yet, I have to say yesterday was intense.  It was intense because of Maggie, and everyone's love for her.  And it was intense because it brought us all back to the Nyorican Cafe.  And it was intense because we have all gotten shockingly older but at the same time haven't changed.  Yet what was most striking, in hearing people talk about Maggie, read from her work, and from work that she admired, is that we all knew the same person.  More than one person spoke about how Maggie had always been a pacer, the first to be on MTV, or go on tour or get a book deal.  But no one expected her to be the first at this.  She made us feel that we weren't quite doing as much as we should, not in a shameful way, but in way that gave us a good kick in the butt to get moving.

This is a big kick.

After we both left New York, we seemed to get closer in many ways, in particular over our love of dogs.  She genuinely thought my writing about dogs was an incredible accomplishment, and when she told me so it meant a lot, because she wasn't a bullshitter.  A compliment from her was gold.  She also was indignant at the fact that, even with my success, I had to work a crummy, ordinary day job to pay my bills.  She was far more upset by this than I was.  Last September, after I took a full-time phone bank job, she sent me this message on Facebook:

I was mortified to learn you have to have a day job. You shoudl not.  
If blow hard Jon Katz (I used to like him but he's a numbnuts about 
rescue and pits) can earn a healthy living preaching about labs and 
border collies, it is absurd that you are not rich. You have a LOT of 
FB followers, can't you do a daily blog the way Katz does and get 
paid subscribers? It's bad enough that I have to get a day job, but 
a total fucking indignity that you do.

So, here's the button Maggie wanted me to add to my blog posts.  Now I have some writing to do.


Popular Posts