Thanksgiving is but days away and I find myself thankful for Menya, someone who sadly is long gone due to cancer. I crashed into her reflexologist, Kelly, on the subway this morning. Kelly, whom I had not seen in a long time, could have been her body double – so much so that when you type Menya’s full name into Google, Kelly’s picture comes up.
So in meeting up fleetingly with Kelly, I am minded of Menya. Menya and I were not friends. I once told her widower that it was in part because we were too much alike – though looking back I think my madness and the things I would do as a result of my being (then undiagnosed) bipolar placed us at odds – Menya was no fool and did not brook nonsense.
Still, when I was in crisis she was there, at a time when when she herself was not well. In 1999, after having a hysterectomy, I was told that a Victoria nurse would be sent. The nurse did not show up as it was Good Friday. and while I had backup to deal with my bandaging issues (I’m from a family of nurses) I really needed a nurse to come in.
Swallowing my pride, I called Menya. And Menya saved the day giving me all the info I needed to get the nurses booked.
My friend Craig ( who spent his weekends in armour bashing in brains with a stick and who died in a car crash months after my surgery) once told me that Menya was stronger and braver than he would ever be.
He was right. To her I will be ever thankful.