PLEASE MEET PAIGE:
In the back of my mind I was afraid it was true. It had been a while since I sat with Paige. At the dialysis center. Bright eyes and colors. Metal jewelry. Relentlessly positive. Non-stop and not withstanding grim circumstances. Accentuating absurdities. Mercilessly poking at human nuances. Laughing. At herself and others. Laughing at me. Talking too much. Same ol’ Paige. But weaker now. Her legs and face swollen. She stood shakily after her three hour treatment. Her only regret, “Today is James’ birthday. I couldn’t be there to celebrate with him.”
Much had changed since I posted Paige’s story here a year ago. The wildFLOWER. It spoke to her chronic positivity. Her sarcasm and cheerfulness. Her affection for people and motorcycles. And the way I felt when visiting her camp in the Jungle. A treehouse of timbers and tarps. A separate and peaceful place. Adjacent to, but separated by lightyears from bustling Seattle. There was a calming effect. Even the wildlife understood. Birds sang in the trees and squirrels played in tangled vines. Her cats lounged on a small porch. I felt good there.
In those days Paige played the banjo. She sought a musical partner. But only weeks later she suffered a seizure. Hospitalized for days, she returned with no memory of what happened, or even how she got home. Her memory and cognitive processes would never function correctly again, making it difficult to follow her prescribed methadone routine. A subsequent diagnosis of kidney failure would require dialysis three times a week. Her bouts with confusion and now irregular methadone schedule led to anxiety. Deep frustration and hopelessness. Her ability to stay disciplined with her dialysis treatment waned. All this on top of a devastating heroin addiction and homelessness.
Having had bad experiences trusting street rumors, I called James. In seconds I learned what I already knew. James broke down and convulsed in sorrow. He sobbed, “I’m completely broken. She was my everything. I miss her so f*cking much.” The back of my mind took center stage like a scared kid. Paige was gone.
Paige suffered much in her short life, especially in her final days. But the sicknesses that ravaged Paige’s body could not touch her soul. She spoke no ill. She kept no score. Her eyes stayed loving and bright. Her smile as genuine as her love for life, which life itself did not deserve.
I am grateful for each moment I spent with Paige. Talking at her camp. Sitting in medical offices. Riding to the methadone clinic. Always joyful and full of surprises. A wiseass. A badass. A rose among thorns. A Wild Flower. Rest in eternal peace Paige.
Beacon Hill Neighborhood | Damian
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