My dear friend and surrogate mother Joyce, my best buddy's mama, passed
yesterday morning, after a long battle with cancer. She went peacefully, for
which I profoundly thank God; the Hospice people did a damn good job keeping
her out of pain and comfortable. If only they could do the same for the boys
now. They're bitter, and who could blame them? No human being deserves to go
like that, in so much pain that they lose the ability to walk, and on so
much morphine that they're comatose.

No, not fully comatose. Her son Dale gave me the picture I shall carry for a
good long time to come...they say the last thing to go is the hearing, and
Dale likes to be heard. He's a shameless talker and can't keep his mouth
shut, just like Joycie. At one point he said the tables were turned, he had
a captive audience, and she couldn't get the last word. Of course, not all
words are spoken with lips; ask any deaf person. Less than 3 minutes after
Dale said this, a nurse came in to see to Joycie's medication, and upon
pulling the sheet back to give an injection they saw her fist on the
mattress, middle finger extended. She hadn't the strength to lift her hand,
but enough to pull together to flip her son off. And damn if she didn't get
the last word. Her last word, F*ck You. Of course, this was her attitude to
the rest of the world: you don't like me, you don't like my politics or how
I practice my religion, or how I support the right of my sons to be gay,
f*ck you. That's how she was when I first knew her, in my early teens: a
tiny woman who scared the Christ of of the school's administration when
she'd come in to complain of how her sons were suffering discrimination on
account of their severe poverty, and what was then a suspicion of being gay.
You could hear her cussing out the principal in the next county. She wasn't
all about cussing though, because Joycie was a Christian in the truest
sense: her gifts to the church were the true widow's mite of the Bible, for
she was so poor that all she could give the parish was the last coins of her
state aid checks. Her home was open to every runaway, every abused kid,
every hungry kid in town; and despite the poverty the family suffered in the
early years I knew them, God provided. They didn't starve, nor did anyone
who came to Joyce who needed a place to crash, come down from dope, escape,
or get food when their own parents drank up the kids' lunch money. Her karma
came back to her in spades: she learned a trade, got out of the vicious
welfare cycle, and became a passionate animal rights person, and was
rewarded for her kindness with self-sufficiency and prosperity.

I had it all together until we left the hospital, went back to her
apartment, and saw a bottle of kiddie vitamins on the shelf. She kept them
there for me, knowing I just love the taste of Flintstones vitamins. That's
when I went batshit. Over a vitamin bottle, of all things. But what's a
vitamin? You give it to your kids to enhance their health and well-being,
and that's her legacy to me. That, and the taste of a delectable Dino. You
all have to excuse me, I'm not with it. I am so not with it I got sent home
from work today. Oy.

Joyce Brauer leaves behind three sons and her beloved dog Benny, and a ton
of people whose lives are better for the open doors of her home and heart. I
am one of those people and I'm proud to have known her. She passes over the
Bridge to meet her dear Shadow who passed a few years ago, and the creatures
she loved and cared for both in her home long before I knew her, and those
who knew her love and care through shelters where she volunteered and the
pet store where she worked. She will also get to know her daughter Tammy,
who died a few hours after she was born.

For all of you who offered prayers, purrs and words of encouragement over
these past few months, many thanks to you on behalf of the Brauer family.
They know you all were pulling for Joycie and appreciate it greatly. If
anyone here makes donations to the ASPCA, please consider one in her memory;
this was her greatest cause, and in her lifetime she wanted that every
animal should be a wanted animal, and that none should needlessly suffer or
contribute to the animal population due to the negligence of humans who
won't take the time or effort to spay or neuter.

Joycie was a damn good woman. Were there more like here, we might have a
better and brighter world. Please pray now for her boys and Mike, for their
healing, and that the anger and bitterness make way for peace.

Blessed be,
Baha

--

Three thousand years ago,
cats were deified in ancient Egypt.
To this day, they have not forgotten.