My Friend Annette

For some of us, the sun shone a little less brightly yesterday.

I got an email telling me that my dear friend, Annette Briley, had finally lost her battle to Lupus and Cancer. I can’t say that it was a real surprise, as I hadn’t heard from her in weeks and happened to think over the weekend that I needed to call and rag her about it.

Annette had a 20 year history of imposing “radio silence” on me whenever her health was in decline. I suspected that the lack of communication was a portent of what was soon to come.

Annette was one of those people that I met and with whom I instantly bonded. When we were first introduced in 1993, the year I moved to Lawton, Oklahoma, she became the caregiver for my parrots when I was out of town. From the start we could look each other straight in the eye and say what needed to be said, although I had to learn that role.

Annette and I seemed prone to adventure. We would start out on a day trip to Wichita Falls, TX, a mere 50 miles away, and return 12 hours later, 800 miles on the truck odometer and in great spirits. We used to joke that we’d drive 200 miles out of our way just to see the “world’s largest ball of string.”

Lupus is a cruel disease, sapping the energy from vibrant individuals. There were times that we’d be scheduled to go off for the day and she’d call to say she simply didn’t feel up to it. The first couple of times I let her get by with it. Then one day her husband, Richard, took me aside and said, “You know, when she says she’s too tired she really just needs someone to kick her butt to make her go. I have to live here and obviously can’t be the one to do that. You, however. . . . .”

That was it. I understood my charge and the next time she said she wasn’t up to the trip I told her I didn’t want to hear it and that she needed to be ready in an hour, lest I come over, select her wardrobe and draw her makeup on myself.

To a classy lady such as Annette, this was a serious threat. Her demand was that I have coffee with me when I arrived, and she’d get in the truck, grumbling and snarling for a good 5 minutes before she was over it. As the disease progressed we had to make some accomodations.

I always drove.

She sometimes napped in the afternoon, regardless of where we were. This wasn’t that big of a deal, though, since we’d been caught asleep in a parking lot or rest area after lunch if it’d been a particularly long day.

But it was always rejuvenating to be with her.

Annette’s husband, Richard, was a Lawton police officer and was a great guy, too. They had a wonderful relationship with a dance they did that simply astounded me the first time I saw it.

Richard came in one evening and she looked him dead in the eye and said, “Oh, good, you’re home. You’re going fishing / hunting / camping for a few days. I’ve already cleared the time off with the PD. Call me on Wednesday to see if you’re back on the schedule or not.”

Richard, recognizing that absence makes the heart grow fonder and the value of “separate time” for all couples, never blinked an eye. He knew that his opportunity would come in the future to look over his newspaper and ask, “When was the last time you went to Arkansas to visit your mom?” which was her clue to “un-ass the area” as Richard said.

A few years ago, Annette was struck with breast cancer on top of the Lupus. While I know there were times that she must have despaired, she rarely let it show to anyone else. Ever the voluptuous woman with a figure straight out of a Renaissance painting, the chemo and other treatments brought on significant weight loss.

Last time we talked, she laughingly told me that she now weighed roughly what her boobs did just a few years ago. “On the bright side, I can fit back into my prom dress from 1966, except this time I don’t have to stuff the bosom. This time I can just roll those puppies up where they’ve flattened out and tuck ‘em in. Instant 36D’s.”

Last time I saw her, I had to sneak up unannounced. She’d been dodging me for months and I’d decided it was time to force my way in when I was back in Oklahoma visiting, whether she liked it or not. I knew that she was dragging around an IV pole, mainlining antibiotics for several months because of some infection that simply wouldn’t go away. I suspected that she looked like hell and was sealing herself off from everyone, but if those who love you can’t see you at your worst and still love you, what’s the point?

Her daughter (who didn’t really know who I was) answered the door. When I asked to see Annette, she said that she wasn’t feeling well and seemed to think I was going to go away. I insisted, and finally asked if she’d give her mom my calling card.

Then I handed her a pound of butter.

You see, Annette had a bigger butter thing goin’ on than Paula Deen. She had at one point sent me to the store to bring back 5 pounds of butter, “just in case” because she thought she might do a bit of cooking that weekend.

I heard the laugh from her bedroom when her daughter gave it to her and we had our last meal together -- Annette, her daughter, our friend Lori and me. We got take-out from Wayne’s Drive In, a Lawton institution dating back to Annette’s childhood and purveyor of such delicacies as Frito Pie, Cheeseburgers, fried pickles and Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, all of us sitting on her living room floor.

It was some of the finest dining I’ve ever done, and I wish we could do it again.

I wish her well on her journey to Richard, a Vietnam veteran and Lawton Police Officer who passed in 2007, his own cancer likely attributable to encounters with Agent Orange. I suspect, even though she died on Sunday, she hasn’t gotten there yet, though.

After all, in the great expanse of the Universe there must be even bigger “balls of string” to visit and see before you finally decide to call it a day and head home.

I hope that she has a hell of a journey, with all the detours she wants.

http://www.grayfuneral.com/CurrentObituary.aspx?did=34f83dd1-7d67-41ea-a3e1-3e4158947643