When I was 11, my dad married a woman I barely knew. She had only been in my life a few short months and in those months, I had only been around her twice. She was carrying my brother, and I was confused and angry and sad and many other things you imagine a child being when her father marries a woman who is not her mother. I didn't expect to like this woman and, for a while, I didn't on principle alone. My brother was born and was beautiful from the first day of his life and he softened a lot of hard hearts including mine. There are times he looks just like his mother, and for years he had a mop of blond hair that made him seem angelic, no matter how much his crying or pouting or toddlerness tried to convince you otherwise.
Against my plan, I fell in love with Elece. She has one of those contagious personalities that make you beam when you're around her. She has an unmatched sense of humor. She has a beauty that really is impossible to ignore no matter how hard you try.
Elece taught me to drive, talked to me about my first game of "spin the bottle," took me shopping for many, many years and even dyed my hair once a very unfortunate shade of orange. She poured Kahlua into my coffee one Christmas Eve morning and said, "It's going to be one of those holidays, I think." She taught me to eat Grape Nuts with chocolate milk poured over them instead of regular. I made her fall in love with Dawson's Creek, and she was just as big a Pacey/Joey fan as I was. She has a smile I can see as soon as I close my eyes because it's unique and lovely and warm.
Her marriage to my father didn't work out, but she'll forevermore be a part of my family, a huge, throbbing, integral part of my life and the lives of my children. She gave me a beautiful little brother and bought me the purple pleather coat I wanted so badly when I was 13 even though it was pricey and, really, very ugly.
Elece is facing a very scary medical road in the next few weeks, a journey that's overshadowing her recent birthday and the holidays, and I unfortunately can't be with her to drink a margarita or to watch cooking shows or go shopping. I wish I could always be close to her, but I can't.
I have seen what the Internet can do when it's harvested for good. I have seen the Internet band together to raise money and hope for families in real need. It's an intensely powerful place, this blogging world, and I would never come to you with a request of any kind unless it was desperately important to me. If you don't mind, would you pray for my stepmom, would you take just a moment to send out a positive thought, a warm vibe, a virtual hug to a woman who would never ask for it herself, a person who has continually held her chin up through circumstances that would bring the strongest person to their knees, a woman who is everything you could hope a woman to be.
Including a very good dancer. (On the left.)
Years ago, we got manicures together and the nail tech convinced us to get acrylic nails slathered on top of our real ones. On the drive home, she said, "I love my nails, but it's a lot harder to pick my nose with them."
I'm not nearly done laughing with her, but I am certain that with enough people pulling for her, she'll be just fine.