Buddha in the Bar

You never know where you’re going to be when you get the news. The news. The bad one.

You never know what bizarre vignette will be seared into your memory forever: the hood of my first car with a neighborhood playground’s silhouette; the look on my dad’s face at the bottom of the stairs; the smiling fat Buddha below the “two shot limit” sign.

Those moments when everything changes. When the tiny shit you do every day fades away and yet that’s all you’re left with.

My friend is dying. Her light, her love, her quirky and downright vulgar humor, her earthly presence is waning. Fast.

What do you do? How do you stare at the place you are in, at once taking in all the detail but also completely removed? On another plane. Without connection.

She wants you to know she’s okay. She loves you. Is so thankful for you and P. Without the lake house we wouldn’t have met. Fallen in love. Married last month at the courthouse because (as you said) “we love each other super darn hard.”

I’m seeing nothing and everything. The rain sounds louder. Her face, her hug at my going away party in January. The request to sew decorations for the big wedding. Her passing around a baking sheet of tequila shots, egging us on.

Her glasses. Her incredible sense of style. Her book nerd passion. Her insane dog and hilarious cat I took care of last August. Her specificity when it comes to Greek yogurt.

Just Kristin. All of it.


Kristin passed away Saturday evening, May 25, 2013 from complications of cancer. I hesitate posting this, really anything at this point, but I can’t think of anything else. I can’t write anything else. And this woman never stopped shining and always told me to be real. So, this is real. 

picstitch kristin


6 thoughts on “Buddha in the Bar

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