She was a troubled soul, but she let me help her and she helped me too. She had suffered the loss of a child, but never belittled me or judged my kvetching about my kids. She understood mental illness, therapy, meds, etc. but our favorite things to talk about were (in no particular order) politics, food and sex.
I should mention that 90 percent of our communication was on gmail chats. Which means I still have 250 conversations. I went back and looked at them the other night. She was so open and loving, and had a great sense of humor in spite of all the crap she had gone through. When I amused her she said "heh" or "funny girl." I giggled, "hee." Well, it beats ROFLMAO.
She would be glad I didn't cry when she died...she asked me not to. Not that I can do much crying on Vitamin Z. But it has been under the surface, waiting to emerge. Today I am feeling such frustration with the boy, that thinking about some dumb English paper he blew off reduced me to tears. Sobs, even.
Barbara would have been great to talk to about this. She was always up at all hours of the night to chat (it's about 11:30 now). When her edema made it hard for her to get out of bed, the computer was inaccessible and the chats ended just after Christmas. Neither one of us were much for talking on the phone. I visited her at her home, but the last couple of times she kept the TV on the whole time, like some elderly person.
I started to really miss Liz again, and now I see why. Barbara was my transitional object. She would listen to my problems and she would let me help her with hers too (my fantasy reciprocal relationship). Now she's gone and the void has returned. And so have the tears.
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