Always in My Heart...

Two years ago today my twin brother died. Cancer, ravenous, irrevocable, incurable. We got the dreaded news of his diagnosis on Mothers Day weekend, in a phone call at 8:30 p.m.--the time he always called, with a joke, news of his two daughters, plans for a get-together. All the stuff of real life. We never expected a death sentence.

But I believe in miracles and prayed for one. A transplant. Some magic experimental drugs. Which, truth to tell, there was one of the latter. (The former was impossible.) But the drug so compromised Mike's quality of life he said, no thanks, after several months of poison and misery.

In those last months, we danced together at niece Katie's wedding, myself in tears. The Beatles' "In My Life." There's nobody who compares to you, I wept into his shoulder.

I love your family like my own, Tonna. That was his special name for me. My son used it until he was about five, never calling me mommy.

With our spouses and closest friends, we did manage one last trip to Palm Springs, one of our favorite places, in July. Oh, the memories! Now, knowing what chemo does to the human body, I can only applaud Mike for his courage in accompanying us. I know now he was in hell much of the time.

Oh, I miss him every day. Every major event of my life, he was at my side. In some way, he still is. I know he was looking down and laughing with joy at Christi's wedding last August. That he sent me his love during those harrowing months of my hubby's chemo. But when the phone rings in the evening, my heart stops, and I wish things were different.

Because that was Mike's time, not some stupid "Unknown" junker that shows up on Caller ID.

I gave a talk at his graveside, and I managed laughter instead of tears. My hubby got up to speak, but just couldn't, awash in emotions. Our best man. Godfather to our son, an incredible uncle, father, husband...one month later, we got the horrific diagnosis of cancer ourselves.

In my life, Mike, there's nobody who compares to you.

Love always....

Tanya Writes About the High School Reunion

Oh, yes. We were cheerleaders, photographers, majorettes, editors, athletes, bandmembers, choristers, friends. We gathered together last weekend at a beautiful harborside hotel after all these gentle decades. (I will not reveal how many decades; suffice it to say folks displayed photos of their grandkids this time, not their offspring LOL.)

Last Friday, I still felt so ill my hero said, Maybe you better stay home. I don't mind going by myself.

I giggled back. What? Do you can hook up with the Homecoming Queen again? Besides, I reminded him. We had a hotel room, and I could take a nap if I needed to.

But I didn't. I stayed on my feet and held my own. Maybe it was happy memories, fun people, great music. Wine. I still sneezed and coughed (the cough was the worst, it came upon me Friday...after I went to the doctor on Thursday of course!) but everybody was hoarse by Sunday brunch.

The best thing about it: Everybody is still recognizable. Although hair colors have changed...as well as the amounts on top LOL.

Another best thing: A bunch of the old herd reads my books! Yowza. In fact, my business cards were the ones making the rounds for everybody else's e-mail addys and phone numbers. So hopefully my rep will spread even more.

The room was beautifully chosen, French doors opening onto the marina and beautiful springtime breeze blowing through all the well-placed windows. No big-box impersonal ballroom for us. The co-chairman Phyllis set me to work on the centerpieces. So fitting. Seashell-trimmed straw chargers with glass hurricanes, candles set in sand, surrounded by more shells and orchids. Perfect.

A hospitality suite beforehand...and dinner rocked. Salmon. I hadn't eaten much for days but this went down so easy.

Two teachers came. Our music teacher directed those of us who'd been in the choirs in the Alma Mater. (The committee had wisely printed out the lyrics again.) I had to tell our popular poetry teacher about the Williams Carlos Williams poem we studied that has never left me. The one about the plums you were saving for breakfast. Wow.

Poignant: A little memorial to those of us who now live with God. Including my twin brother Mike who will be a blog all his own...he left me last Christmas and I can barely breathe sometimes.

We had alums there all the way from Manhattan, Chicago, Minnesota, Oregon. I hit up the Manhattanite right away. Amazingly, I know right where she lives...near the UN. (We'd strolled their one night during our trip last June, struck by the charming residential architecture.)

One buddy, the class shutterbug, couldn't attend, but he sent tons of snapshots he'd taken over the years. I took a few pix from the collage to frame. As my hero told our kids, Mom looks about nine.

The former mayor of L.A. emcee'd. We girls danced in swarms. (What is it about guys who won't dance with their ladies?) And a great time was had by all.

Oh, by the way. The Homecoming Queen wasn't able to make it back here from New Orleans...she'd just been out in June visiting her family.

We missed her.

But three of the four princesses made it!

And the grand conclusion was, we don't dare wait ten more years to get together again. There's already a committee afoot for a five-year.

January 10 has already been carved in stone for a mini-gathering. Golf for the guys, bike ride for the girls. Followed by wine and whatever.

Well, enough reminiscing. I better get something done.