moominmuppet

Jenn St. Onge was brave, and she was compassionate. More than anything, that's how I remember her.

I just found out last night, but we lost her a bit more than a year ago to a out-of-the-blue pulmonary embolism. Still trying to wrap my head around it, and spent my first break today getting through some of the tears that hit as it sank in, then cried some more during lunch while on the phone with my folks about it. Hard this way, being at a different grieving point than others (I found out from a friend who was unimaginably closer to her, but more than a year further along in coping with the loss). It happens he'll be back in Michigan soon, so I'm going to do a quick roadtrip up for some hangout time, partly to express my own support, partly to process it a bit more myself, partly just to show Chad and maybe Kidlet around my childhood home town. I expect the whole thing to be strange in a very emotionally multifaceted and intense sort of way.

But right now, I want to talk about Jenn. I came into the Davison school system in 8th grade. IIRC, Jenn didn't come in for another year or two, but it's more than 20 years ago, and I'm fuzzy on details. There are really only a few people I actually remember clearly from high school at all; she's one of a small double-handful who I recall intensely and with powerful affection. And did, even through those many years without Facebook or Classmates.com to refresh my memory. I only saw her again a time or two after we graduated high school, but she's always remained a powerful force in my memory. Appropriate, given what a powerful force she was in life.

I said the other day on Facebook:
Also, many of you had cameos in my conversation with Chad last night; long ramble through the history of my social dynamics from middle school, high school, first loves, initial sexual discoveries, and the like. Fond thoughts in your collective directions. Also to all who ever defended me when I was bullied, or was a friend when I really needed one - that was part of the conversation too. You've helped make me who I am, and I'm happy so something went very right with that along the way.

Jenn was one of the people specifically on my mind when I wrote the latter part of that, especially. When I got to Davison in 8th grade I had just skipped a grade, was dealing with a new school system, and was generally overwhelmed, immensely socially naive, and almost totally unable to psychologically defend myself. It was the social group that I generally short-hand as "the black leather crowd" who earned my undying gratitude by giving me shelter and protection and friends and backup. The Peeps are the folks who gave me that in early college when I needed it, these were the folks who gave me that in middle school and high school. When I'm talking about it, I'm most likely to directly reference Michelle (Mikki) H, since she, all 5'2" of her badass self, threw one of my primary tormentors up against a locker in 8th grade and successfully got him to back off for several years (by that point I was able to handle him myself, and did so thoroughly, and in a very emotionally satisfying way), but everyone in that group made a difference to me in various ways over the years. Jenn St. Onge, when she arrived, was just mind-blowingly intimidating to me because she seemed so sure of her self, so much further along in emotional maturity than I was, so cool and fearless and brave and utterly willing to give the finger to bullshit of all kinds. We weren't precisely close personal friends, but we were part of the same tight-knit social group (we shared a lunch table, and that's pretty much the definition of community in high school, isn't it?), and she may have been an intimidating as fuck badass, but she was also a kind, accepting, and empathetic one. She and I weren't all that close because I honestly wasn't at her maturity level at that point, but in high school she stood by me when I desperately needed it. It meant a lot. And her ability to project emotional power and confidence was just amazing and inspiring. I rather idolized her. I hope that every once in a while I manage to make someone else's life better like she made mine, just by being there and being a safe refuge from the malice of the world-at-large.

As I just said to NL:
You don't have to worry about walking on eggshells around me, btw. Normal life is good, not disrespectful to her memory or my grief.

Trivial and cheerful and mundane and silly are all welcome.

I only have a few handy in my LJ galleries, but here's Mushroom in her younger and rounder days.

	Mushroom 2
	Mushroom 1

We let Fatty Lumpkin go Thursday morning, nose still buried in his favorite soft food. It was gentle and quick, and although I've gotten weepy a number of times in the past two days directly because of that, I'm mostly doing ok (except for the dream of chasing missing cats through dorms while trying to move). The emotionality is popping up all over the place, though. I'm watching the final season of West Wing, in which a major character dies because the actor died suddenly and unexpectedly. I sobbed through the funeral, hit by the combination of the fictional and real losses, actors acting their true grief. I'm still feeling shaky about getting to the final episodes of a story that has engaged me so intensely, pre-grieving like I do every loss over the final days of the Bartlet administration, the idea that soon I'll have no more of the story I'm loving so much. I got weepy all over again reading Cat Valente's "Regeneration X", from Chicks Dig Time Lords during my last break. Her fundamentally classical framing of Doctor Who hit every nerve and connection for me.

I've always loved immersing myself in worlds. My emotional security blankets are still the worlds from my teens -- Valdemar, Pern, Darkover (notably, all series that run to 20 or more books). Even today I prefer the sprawling series of sometimes uneven quality over the compact and near-perfect. It's true for both books and shows, and for much the same reason. I consume media voraciously, obsessively. A single book or movie will fill my head for a day, and then I'm abruptly booted back out again, story over. It's too short a time for me. I want to steep in the world, escape to it for days and weeks on end, learn the trivial and inane along with the sweeping tales. It takes thousands of pages to provide that for me, or four, five, six seasons of a show. It takes time to know a world well enough that it feels like going home, and that's an important element of things for me.

It's a lot of why I'm such a fan of fandom, too. I'm not much of an active participant, and I can't write fiction to save my ass, but I'm immensely grateful to all the people who can, who turn those skills toward fleshing out the worlds I love, who create bits of "new" to discover when I think I've finished everything, who provide fascinating and chewy dissection and analysis that bring more flavor to repeat viewings and readings. I suppose I should prophylactically quote Sturgeon's Law here, but the truth is that I'm not a very harsh critic, and I've never found it very hard to find the good stuff and skip the abyssmally bad.

There's simply nothing the least bit shocking about my adoration of Doctor Who except how long it took for me to get started (I'm a late bloomer -- never had a chance to catch the show in the wilds of rural Michigan antenna-based television, although I'd "meant to" since at least high school, being a good little SF/F geek and all). And I certainly fell passionately in love with the new series, which was my introduction. It's the old series that really captures me, though. The old series, and the fandom. It's an absolute ocean compared to the lakes of other fandoms. I think only Trek comes close in terms of time span, and even then there's a substantial difference between having an original and a huge gap, followed by a relatively sudden and massive explosion of material that's already died out again, and the little show that could, plugging away year after year after year, creating generations of fans and fan activity. I grew up on Trek; that was family tradition in my house. Somewhere along the line, though, I ceased to connect as intensely to it -- too military, too heirarchical, too clean for who I am as an adult. Farscape, Firefly, Who and Torchwood -- they all touch me more these days, largely because of their fundamental untidiness. And after several years of watching through the available old episodes, I'm so aware I'm still barely scratching the surface with The Doctor. Once I finally finish watching everything with the first eight doctors (well, everything available, and there's always hope more will be discovered in someone's attic), then there are the radio dramas, the authorized and unauthorized novels, the worlds and worlds of fanfic... Frankly, the whole idea makes me downright giddy. It's like the very specific version of walking into a library, or a bookstore. I'm always, every time, overwhelmed by all the things I could read, the stories I could live, the ideas I could learn. It makes me all tingly. I'll tell you a secret: I keep my own books, all 3500 of them, despite the hassle and expense of moving them, despite the minimal likelihood I'll reread most of them, despite the teasing and jokes, because I love living in that feeling. I love having universes at my fingertips, even if I'm just brushing those fingertips across the book spines most days. The fact that Who's history and fandom feel that way to me has as much to do with my adoration as does its marvelously humane and hope-filled worldview.

And as long as I'm rambling... "Hope" is a major touchstone for me. The way I generally describe my move to atheism is as the shift from Faith to Hope. I think it's made my life immeasurably better, happier, and more functional. If I'm going to connect myself to a fictional mythos, there are worse characters than The Doctor, worse ideals than hope and humor and compassion.

Baldur was one of our elderly cats, and it'd really been showing recently. Wednesday around 3am we found him back behind a desk in really bad shape. We got him doing a bit better at home, and then took him into our vet that morning as soon as they opened, and they confirmed my fears. Thankfully, since we'd contacted zeldajean first thing, she was already on her way in from PA, and was able to be there and say goodbye to him before we put him to sleep. I'll miss the little snot-rocket; despite his mucus issues he was a wonderfully sweet-tempered and affectionate boy. I'm not feeling much like talking about it right now, but I wanted to at least say something.

Morph always responded best to a singsong sort of "mwooorphmwooooooorphmwooooorph" call. I'm sad I'll never have a reason to use it again. And I can't believe I didn't mention about him being the boobcat, too. He loved nothing better than to curl up on someone, happypaw their boobs, and suckle on the fabric in their armpit. It was goofy, and left little drool spots, but it was also ridiculously cute, and obviously made him insanely happy. He'd also sometimes develop drool bubbles when he slept. His "chill spot" was the top of his head. He loved having his belly petted, but you had to do it just right in order not to tickle him. If you accidentally tickled him, he'd be all wound up until you engaged the chill spot again. He'd stand on the ottoman and bat at Jax's face, which Jax found fascinating and funny, and would keep approaching with a big doofusy "hey, do it again, do it again" attitude. He'd also go for Jax's tail, sometimes. And he's the only of my cats who's ever chased his own tail. It was hysterical. He loved cheese above all else, and was ridiculously pushy and undeterable in his attempts to beg or steal it. Until he lost weight in old age, he had the most wonderful soft, fat belly. His belly fur was white, and very thin, so his belly was this floppy pink pillow. We'd play the 'got your belly' game, which always bemused him.

The first summer I had him, when we were deciding on a name, we almost went with "Yahweh", for his penchant for unpredictable violence. He'd roll on his back, all "pet me, pet me", and be all happy about that until all of a sudden he'd go "*rwaaar* I attack your arm", and suspend himself upside down by claws and teeth. I was scratches from hand to shoulder that summer, until we learned how not to accidentally tickle his belly. I had him that summer with Landa and Tawnya and Ronda, and then he lived with my parents until I graduated nine months later. He moved in with me to my first real apartment of my own (Mushroom joined us within a year). Driving him back up from Alabama in the Suburban, with no a/c, I ended up stopping to pick up a bag of ice, put a towel over it in the front passenger footwell, and set him there to get him through the heat and stress. Poor panting boy. He'd been with me ever since, through Gambier, Mt Vernon, Lakewood, and here. He was dumb and clumsy and goofy and loving in the most endearing possible ways.

The two women from the vet clinic came by about 1:45 today. Everyone else, especially Mark, had gotten their goodbye time, and I'd spent the last half hour with him in bathroom (he'd taken to lying in the bathtub for comfort and coolness), petting him. We took him out on the back porch, let him wander for a minute more out in the sun (flea-allergic indoor cat, so this was one of the last things he was capable of enjoying), I held him for a few minutes, and then we did the injection. We let the dogs sniff him, as well as Mushroom, then we wrapped his body, and took it to Gateway for cremation.

I've done my crying, I think, and bec76 and grf took really good care of me. I've had a nap, and although I'm still feeling sad and quiet, I'm doing ok.

...To bring Gramps home to California. We've eaten at several of his favorite restaurants in the past couple days, and we're now at the church preparing for the service. It's sunny and mild, and we've opened the columbarium where Gramps' ashes will join Grannie's. Gramps requested the Ode to Joy and the Hallelujah chorus, and I've been enjoying listening to the organist practice.

Things that make me happy: cell phones are only allowed on during the service if you're getting game updates (Gramps was a huge sports fan). He was cremated in his WWII baseball cap by Dad's request, which would've made him happy. And Dad checked with all of us, and we're all in agreement about full inclusion of the Cash family, especially the grandchildren as honorary pallbearers. Given how I feel about respecting chosen family, that touches me deeply.

My paternal grandfather died this morning at age 90. He's been living with my parents for the past two years, and it was a very quick and gentle death. Dad got to see him just this morning. By all standards, it's what I consider a "good death", and I'm very glad he could have that. My heart right now is with my Dad, who I adore, and who is going through losing his own Dad. I can't imagine what that feels like, and I'm afraid to even try, but I wish there was something I could do to help it hurt him less.

Gramps was a good and honorable man. My clearest memory of him will always be the care with which he nursed my dying Granny, eighteen years ago. When she was dying of cancer, he managed to keep her at home the entire time, caring for her needs. It was a tremendous expression of love.

He and I have never been all that close -- I'm a baffling kind of woman to him -- but he has always treated me with love and generosity even when we weren't really sure what we could find to talk about. I'm glad I got to see him in February during the family Nashville visit, and I'm glad the move meant that the whole family got more of a chance to spend time with him in his final years.

The devastating news of the death of Congresswoman Stephanie Tubbs Jones, a strong feminist and dear friend of the Feminist Majority has been difficult to absorb. The Congresswoman, who has supported many of our events past, was scheduled to speak at our EqualiTEA in Denver on August 25. In Stephanie Tubbs Jones honor we are now planning a tribute at the EqualiTEA with the many women leaders and members of Congress who are planning to attend.
For those of you who will not be with us at the EqualiTEA in Denver, we are streaming the entire event, including the tribute, at our website, feministmajority.org. We have also created a place for you to write a personal remembrance of Stephanie Tubbs Jones. We will share them on our site and forward them on to her family and dedicated staff.
Stephanie Tubbs Jones was a strong supporter of the feminist movement, women candidates, and an inspiration for young women aspiring to political leadership positions. Tubbs Jones keynoted at the Feminist Majority Foundation's National 2008 Young Women's Leadership Conference for college activists. A student who attended the conference remembers that "she was an eloquent and powerful speaker who made me feel empowered to create change as a young woman. She was a leader and it was clear she fought incredibly hard for equality and for humanity. We dubbed her our 'shero'."
A moving tribute to the Congresswoman published by the National Organization for Women says that "We can't imagine losing your voice, your verve, your vitality, your valor. We can't imagine the years ahead, unable to work with you on our unfinished agenda, unable to sit with you and plot some new, grand effort. We can only say thank you for your spirit, your grit, your sense of urgency and dedication, your heart." At the Feminist Majority, we couldn't agree more.
Congresswoman Tubbs Jones became the first African-American woman elected to the House of Representatives from Ohio in 1998 and won reelection by large margins ever since. Prior to her service in the House of Representatives, Tubbs Jones served on the Ohio State Common Pleas bench as well as a Cleveland city Municipal Court judge. She was a leading advocate for civil rights, women's issues, children, and election reform. Together with Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) she objected to the certification of the 2004 presidential election results for Ohio. Speaker Nancy Pelosi appointed her to chair the Committee on Standards of Official Conduct (Ethics) in 2006. She also served on the Ways and Means Committee.
The Congresswoman was an indefatigable candidate and campaigned relentlessly for women candidates. On the night before her death she spoke at a campaign event for Sharen Nuehardt, who is running for the House of Representatives from Ohio's 7th District. Tubbs Jones was not only also a very strong supporter of Hillary Clinton, but also campaigned nationwide for her.
We must remember her energy and great legacy, which inspires all of us who pursue the dream of equality and justice.

Ellie Smeal
President
Feminist Majority

P.S. Please add your remembrance of Stephanie Tubbs Jones to this site. We will forward them to her beloved family and dedicated staff.