Barefoot Bonnie and her Brown Leather Chair

Eggs woke me up on time this morning. According to her biometric clock, I should be roused by 7:45 am. When I feigned sleep, she chirped insistently, and then cuddled with, licked, and then nipped my arm. Her efforts paid off and I soon sank into Bonnie's hand-me-down, brown, leather chair with coffee in hand.

Not only does the soft seat remind me of Bonnie, it moves in every direction, offering comfort to my odd joints. In fact, I'm typing in it right now, thankful for a place to work besides my bed.

I watched Bonnie go through a lot in this chair. I fed her almost once a week for over a year and wiped tears as well as stray hairs that got caught under her glasses. When coughing spells wracked her body, I used tissues to wipe the sputum she coughed up, trying hard not to gag.

Once, when I fed her chicken nuggets, I used a tissue to extract a piece of grizzle from her mouth. I set it aside, finished feeding her the meal, and then started on dessert. After watching her eat several bites of a sugar cookie, I longed for a mere morsel. Eyeing a cookie crumb on her plate, I claimed it as my own, only to realize I was chewing her discarded chicken grizzle.

Appalled, I quickly removed it from my mouth and considered keeping the incident to myself. But knowing Bonnie, I thought better of it. I soon let her know we were connected in a very special way, since I'd chewed her very own chicken grizzle.

Over time, we got a lot of mileage out of my mishap.

Bonnie laughed a lot in this chair and made jokes I haven't forgotten. Which is why, in the end, I think she'd be pleased with the second song I surprisingly wrote for her funeral. I didn't plan it. It just happened. And Lu liked it so much she insisted that I sing it at the close of the service.

You see, Bonnie had asked to be buried in the dress she wore when she married, Eddie, Lu's brother, a decade earlier. Lu knew where the dress was, but hadn't been able to find the fancy shoes that wouldn't have slid on Bonnie's severely swollen feet anyway.

When the moment came and the funeral director arrived, we were all tired and a bit loopy after being up all night. As the tall, gentle man wheeled our friend's body to the door, he stopped and asked about the clothes.

Lu looked up at him like a little girl from her place on the sofa and said, "I have her clothes together, but I can't find her shoes."

With a knowing smile he simply replied, "It's really okay."

And that's the moment these words began to form in my semi-warped mind.

Because while every other detail our dear friend laid out was adhered to, the truth is, Bonnie was Buried Barefoot, and I really don't think it mattered. In fact, I think it was apropos. And if you have minute to listen to the song, you might just understand why.

Bonnie fought to live in a way I hope to mirror as I press on with my illness. But there will come a day when all my efforts will be forgotten and left behind. And on that day, you can bury me barefoot too.





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photo credit: sequoia playing scary string-synth sounds on the keyboard - _MG_6341 via photopin (license)