A Goodbye to Mrs. P - Sort of Another Old Story

When I was 18, I went to college and became roommates with the #1 engineering student at my college.  We lived together for 4 years before I moved away and went to Duke and then to Minneapolis.   We were very good friends.  We were in each other's weddings. We even saw each other 2 years ago (which, given what a terrible friend I generally am, is an indicator of what good friends we were).  

Anyway - my roommate lived in the Albany area and he always told me "anytime you want, come out and visit and we can go to SPAC or the track."   SPAC was the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and "the track" was Saratoga, as in "I hear you went up to Saratoga, and your horse naturally won" and The Whitney.   So from 1983 to probably 1988 or 1989 I used to go out to the Albany area 1-2 times a year and go drinking and go to the track.  

From my house to Albany was around 5 hours and I'd drive it in my Mercury Lynx and later VW Rabbit.  One time I drove from Durham to Albany at 80 mph through a driving rain, only to get my driver's side door caved in in a car accident at 9pm only 3 miles from my destination - dry road, no rain, 30 mph speed zone when the accident occurred. 

I loved going to Saratoga, even though I never had any luck with the local girls in the bars/dance clubs I was lucky enough to at least avoid arrest when throwing up or urinating in alleys, as sometimes occurred.  The track was more my speed.  We'd go to the nearest liquor warehouse and buy whatever was the cheapest beer they had that we could stand.  Then we'd take giant coolers and go out to the infield and drink.  My roomie would bring his long-time gf and I'd always go solo.  But the gf was a nice girl so she'd always be cool to hang with (she became my roomie's wife and still is)

SPAC was our other hangout and we (and seemingly everyone else) would go drink in the park before the concerts (Journey, Foreigner, Fabulous Thunderbirds, Talking Heads, Bryan Adams, etc).   Then we always sat on the hill and watched while we sobered up. Then we'd go home. One SPAC concert my roomie's wife saw a friend she knew named Donna and asked her to come over and drink with us. At the time, I was probably around 200 pounds, pretty powerfully built.   These words would also describe Donna, who played college rugby. About 4 Pabst Blue Ribbon 16 ouncers into our drinking, Donna whispers to me "I will drive you back to their house after the concert -- but we won't go STRAIGHT home, if you catch my drift".  I did and I immediately panicked.  Fortunately, some begging with my roomie's gf got her to make Donna back off. I am not sure I could have outfought her otherwise.  In hindsight, I'd give myself a 30% chance. 

Anyway - these 6-7 years worth of trips were a great time in my life and my roomie's house was like a second home for me.  I'd drive the 5 hours out.  I always ate on the way, but the second I reached my Albany destination, my roomie's mom would say "come in, sit down, I will make you a sandwich".  I'd reply that I had already eaten. "Come on, sit at the table, I will get you a beer ". She'd always make me a sandwich with about 6-8 potato chips (she always had Store brand ruffled) on a small plate. She'd open a beer for me and we'd sit and chat.   Mrs P was the nicest lady in the world. She'd talk to me about mom things and "how is school" and "how are the folks" and she was just a great mom figure (like a much much much much nicer version of my actual mom).  

The other thing I remember about Mrs. P is she didn't care if we drank and got drunk and stumbled home at all hours. But she also showed no mercy when we were hungover. She used to say "you're gonna drink, you gotta pay the piper".   I bet I was hungover 12-15 times in her house - never an "oh that it too bad, Maven".  Not once. 

I learned today that Mrs. P just died.   She had been sick for a few months and just sort of went bad suddenly.  She was a great lady.  She treated me as a family member, and I always considered her a family member. Sadly, I have not seen her in 25 years or more.  This fact makes me feel really shitty. But I have to hope that she knew how much I cared about her and how great I think she is, I guess "was."   There are not many people in your life who care that much about you. You always remember  the ones who do. 

Her daughter is a Facebook friend and messaged me to tell me Mrs. P had died and how. She said "my mom adored you and she always talked about how great it was when you visited".   Right back at you, Mrs.P.   While I am not a religious guy, I really hope there is heaven or a place like heaven, because I'd really like to see her again some day - have a beer and a sandwich and like 8 ruffled potato chips and just chat about things again.  Good bye and good luck, Mrs. P - you made my life much better.