When my daughter (aged 13) doesn’t particularly like the behavior of someone from the male persuasion, she often refers to that person as a “DICK’s Sporting Goods.” An example of this would be: “Ugh. I can’t believe he just said that, he’s such a DICK’s Sporting Goods!”

When I first met my friend, Mona, he was kind of a DICK’s Sporting Goods to me. But before I tell you about that, I first need to explain some other stuff.

I met Mona in the summer of 2002 at Camp Tanuga in northern Michigan. He was probably 27 years old at the time. I was 30 or 31 and had been “dating” my now husband, Cody, for a few weeks via phone and email. As one of the directors of Tanuga, Cody moved up north at the end of April and stayed all summer. Getting to know someone via phone/email is great, but it’s not real life, so we agreed if we were going to consider pursuing a real relationship, it was time for me to visit Camp.

It was my first time seeing Camp Tanuga and my first time seeing Cody in his element, doing his job, and around his people. Mona was one of his people.

Mona’s real name is Marc, but everyone called him Mona. I was familiar with gender ambiguous names, but “Mona” was a new one. When I asked, “Why do you guys call him Mona?” The answer was simply: “Because when he was a kid he looked exactly like his mom, and her name is Mona.”

I found Marc/Mona to be very intriguing. He was super relaxed, funny and quick-witted. He was well connected, well read and very confident. The confidence thing threw me because, in my experience, guys who possessed that kind of casual bravado usually backed it up with looks or money — and Mona didn’t care about either one.

Mona was working at Camp (as he did many summers) as the Camp Driver. He loved driving. If Mona wasn’t waiting tables at The Stage in West Bloomfield, MI or Canter’s Deli in LA, he was driving. He drove hundreds of campers on trips all over northern Michigan and beyond. He ran all camp errands and proclaimed his job title to be “Cody’s Bitch.” 

Whatever Cody needed, Mona got it, and it didn’t matter how far or how long it took, Mona didn’t mind, because he loved driving. He was a pro as long as someone else was in his care, but if he was alone, we never really knew what kind of condition the vehicle would be in when he returned. Over the years, Cody has started many conversations with a long sigh and “F**king Mona…” The two of them, though, they had a rhythm. They understood each other and Mona was always loyal to and respectful of Cody.

But that didn’t mean he had to like me: Cody’s newest girl, with my fancy luggage, and my fancy dog with his fancy, Burberry dog collar. So when I stepped out of my fancy car, that first time at Camp Tanuga, there was Mona, shaking his head like: “No way is she gonna make it the full weekend.”

That’s because Mona was Judgy McJudgerton from Judgytown — but he was wrong about me! I made it that weekend, and then another one a few weeks later, and then I just kept coming back. And though Mona was never outwardly mean to me, he certainly didn’t go out of his way to make me feel comfortable.

It bothered and humbled me that Mona wasn’t into me, (especially during those years because I was kind of cocky) but I understood. I was in a sorority. I know about loyalty and making others “earn it.” And since I had very little connections or ties to Camp, Mona made it clear forging a relationship with him wasn’t going to come easy.

I’m not exactly sure when Mona decided he liked me, but I do remember when he made his first gesture:

In March of 2003, Cody and I got engaged and we had three, maybe four engagement parties before the wedding. (It was crazy.) For one of the parties, we enlisted Mona to make a music mix since he had  admirable taste in music. He never went over the song list with us, and we didn’t think to ask.

It was all good until I started hearing the opening lines from the song Hey Lady by Obie Trice/Eminen. This song (a song that Mona actually introduced me to) though one of my favorites, could NOT have been more NOT appropriate for an engagement party. Swearing, the N word, gunshots – all of it –blasting through the speakers at the party venue. And not just once, three times during the night. I still remember standing with my arm linked through Mona’s, scared for Cody’s reaction when he started to really HEAR the lyrics:

“I’ll kill you, b**ch I’m f**king for real, I’ll make you suffer
Like I suffered, if you f**k me, then I’ll make you…”

Cody was not amused, but I knew Mona put that song on for me, and I was honored. That’s how Mona rolled though. No grand gestures; he showed his love in other ways.

He used to dog me repeatedly for requesting my water bottles at “room temp” and my sunscreen at 50, but he always made sure I had both.

During the summers that Mona couldn’t come to Tanuga and be the Camp Driver, he wouldn’t let me talk about how much I liked our new driver. As far as he was concerned, no matter how much I loved the new Camp Driver (and we have had some that I have truly loved), to Mona they were all “Seat Fillers” until he was able to come back.

He also wasn’t interested in material things or anything fake, including people. If he liked you, you knew it. If he didn’t, you felt it. He had stature and seniority, and he leaned into both. A nod from Mona was currency. Forget the “green pass,” if you had Mona, you had a different “in.” He had no money, but he had street cred — and if you’ve ever been around someone like that – someone who can get you “in the door” without having to rely on their wallet, you know how cool and rare that is.

Plus, whenever I felt like doing anything — especially something that wasn’t particularly “suburban,” I had Mona. From driving around looking for meth labs (don’t ask) to playing “Store” with my daughters, Mona never said “No” to me. He knew we were going to have fun — and I knew no matter what I wanted to do, he’d not only take me, but he would make sure nothing happened to me. Ever.

But Mona had me, too! Yes, I declined shaving his head when he bitched and whined about being “too hot,” but I had his back when he needed to wear something other than a Grateful Dead t-shirt or his brown, G-Unit hoodie. I was his moral compass and ethical boundary, and you better believe when he moved to LA, he continued to send me pictures of his bed made because he knew I’d be proud of him.

And I was. I was proud of Mona for so many things, and proud of the unlikely friendship we built. And now I am sad because he’s gone. I’m so sad.

I do a lot of walking and crying. It’s sucky. One of “our songs” will come on and I’ll want to text him, or some dummy will say “Rite Aids” or “Starbuck” and I’ll want to call him. I think of all the private jokes and adventures we shared and I feel sad because when we swore we’d take each other’s secrets to the grave, I didn’t think he’d be taking mine so early. What am I supposed to do now? How am I going to find another friend like Mona? 

Of course, I’m feeling sorry for myself. I know healing takes time. I know there will be a day when I think of Mona and smile instead of cry, but not today. Today I’m still sad.

If Mona were here I know he’d gently say “C’mon, Rob. You got this.” And he’d be right, because I do “got this,” and I do believe one day Mona will send me someone special to help fill the void. And while I’m sure this person won’t have a huge Star of David tattoo circling his elbow, or the same relaxed vibe that always made me feel safe, I’m still expecting him to send me one hell of a seat filler.

RIP Mona  We love you

Mona and Frankie in 2008, her first summer at Camp

His “made bed” — and you know I didn’t let him send the same pic more than once. 

Thank you for being here. We hope you’re doing OK. If you have SUMthing fun to say about Mona or Tanuga, or if you’d just like to check in with us, we’d love to hear from you! This pandemic blows.

XO,

The Dim Sum and Doughnuts crew

To my right was my phone, brimming with possibilities to kick off my day. The go-to though is always my text messages. I usually wake up to at least a few texts from various friends. They’re either ending a conversation from the night before or they send me something funny to wake up to.

Not today. 

This is the text I woke up to today:

Am I a Chris Cornell fan? Yes. Voice like velvet. Nothing like it. But am I a super fan? No. My friend who sent me the text though? She is. She is a SUPER FAN, and after I got over the initial shock that Chris Cornell (frontman for both Audioslave and Soungarden, with one of the most respected voices in rock—particularly 90’s grunge) was dead at only 52 years old, I felt sad for me and sick for my friend.

There are people who will never understand what it means to love someone you’ve never met, but part of why we love them is because we have never met them.

Meeting an idol who isn’t so interested in meeting you could potentially ruin everything, and that would suck. Most people don’t understand why I don’t want to meet Eminem, even though I have been a loyal fan for many years. I don’t want to meet him because he doesn’t want to meet me.

(He should, but whatever.)

I’m not looking to be an inconvenience to Eminem. And I don’t need to get a vibe from him that I am an inconvenience. That would not end well. I would be all “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? You don’t get to treat ME like that!” (And then I would push him a little bit.) “I’ve been through A LOT with you, my friend. And not only that but my kids (the younger one mostly) are completely along for the ride!!” And he would be like “Whatever, lady, you’re crazy!” which would only make me madder.

And then what?

And then I’m screwed. Because now I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth for someone I respected and admired for many, many years. No thanks. Unless Eminem wants to hang with us because HE wants to, I’m good with the way things are.

Still, if anything ever happens to him, I’ll want some answers. And that’s how my friend is feeling today. She lost her favorite and she doesn’t know why. She’s at a loss, and feeling a loss. And that is perhaps the hardest part of loving someone you don’t know.

We only know what we know, and even with everything we are given: lyrics, prose, news stories or whatever, we will never know everything.

So what do we do?

We go through the stages of grief like any other death. (But because we didn’t actually know the person, it’s usually at a faster pace and there’s no shiva.)

I am not professionally schooled on all the stages of death, but I do know the first stage is usually “WTF???” because we are in a state of shock. From there, we gradually move on to theories and conclusions, and then blame.

But really what we are looking for are reasons.

When it comes to death, we like reasons. We like knowing WHY something happened so A) we have a greater understanding and B) we can avoid it ourselves. Reasons help wrap things up; they give us closure so we can move towards acceptance.

But sometimes we don’t get reasons. We only get questions! And who knows? Maybe we’re not meant to know…? Maybe the “not knowing” is the final lesson or gift from our idol, so we learn to deal with this kind of loss?

UGH. That’s annoying, because what the HELL are we supposed to do with all the feelings we have?

I’ll tell you what we do: We take the day and we mourn. We mourn HARD. We mourn for someone we didn’t actually know, but still, someone we “knew.” We pay homage to a person we connected with on a level that is just too hard to explain, and most people won’t get anyway.

But some do! The ones who love as hard as we do, or if they don’t, they still understand that we do—those are the ones that will get it. They will understand the more you love, the harder it hurts. And they will get you through your “blackest” of days.

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Thanks for being here!

#FellOnBlackDays #ChrisCornell #RIP #Eminem #Idontwanttomeetyoueither

“Where do babies come from?”
“Who invented pretzels?”
And the ever popular: “Do you believe in G-D?” 

JJ (my 7 year old) recently asked me the last one. ​Her question was random and had nothing at ALL to do with finding a good snack, but that’s ​how it goes.​ Kids don’t always give you prep time for hard subjects. You have to be ON and ready because kids, in a matter of seconds, have the innate ability to send everything off track.

Turns out, I do believe in G-D. I believe there is something up there (way up) that no one has any control over. It’s something we can’t explain, but we ​know i​t’​s there. G-D, to me, is uncontrollable, untouchable, and all powerful. Always around and always watching​, G-D is the ultimate decision maker ​(​x​)​ one million trillion kabillion with no rules or anyone to answer to, and the power to dispense both good and evil.

Still, like anything else that is intangible, you have to WANT to believe, and I want to believe. I want to believe there is something up there watching over me, making sure I’m given only what I can handle. I want to believe there is a reason for everything. I want to believe in all of that, and I want my kids to believe too.

But sometimes it’s hard. There are so many horrible things that happen, sometimes it’s really just really HARD. My kids are young (7 and 9) so I’m still able to shelter them from most of the bad in the world, but sheltering them from all that’s bad isn’t always good. Because bad things happen.

Some things are SO bad though​, I’m just not ready. Example: I haven’t discussed anything going on in Syria with my kids. I haven’t brought up the fact that there are some very, very, very bad people causing unspeakable pain​ and senseless death ​to ​hundreds of thousands of ​innocent men, women and children.

How do I explain that to my kids?

I can’t. Because no matter how I spin it, it will only lead to another inevitable question: “If there are so many bad people in the world, why does G-D take the good ones?”

And I don’t have an answer for that.

I don’t know why there are a shit-ton of ​horrible people running around​​, doing horrible things​, ​all day long, all over the world​, but Hey, lemme just grab Alan Thicke over here for a second. Sorry, Al! Time’s up!!

I get that death is inevitable. I do. I’m just having some trouble wrapping my head around why so many ​bad, bad people are ​allowed to stay while good, good​ ​people ​have to go—many before they’re even ready​! …Or before we are.

When I was 27, I lost one of my most favorite boyfriends to a horrific death. We weren’t together (or even speaking) at the time, but I struggled hard. He was young and ​it was ​tragic. My dad​ ​proposed that maybe some people are taken from us early on so they can be preserved and remembered in a certain way. Buddy Holly, Amy Winehouse, Janis Joplin​, J​im Morrison: ​They were all great talents who left us in a lot of pain​.

But maybe they were in a lot of pain too? Maybe things weren’t going to get better for them? Maybe they were taken before things got really, really bad— and now we remember them the way we were meant to remember them…?

OK, I can get on board with that, but I have another friend I lost​ (​also in our 20’s​) and he wasn’t on the path to destruction at all. He was on the path to AWE​SOME​NESS. He was doing his thing, being awesome. Smart, gorgeous, ​fun, happy, hot girlfriend, great group of friends​ and family,​ and one day he got cancer, and ​then ​he got really sick, and kept getting sicker, until he died.

What the f** k is that about?

Why do we have to lose THOSE people???? Are they sacrificial lambs meant to send a different kind of message? ​OK, fine—w​hat’s the message? ​Cancer doesn’t discriminate? Great​, thanks!!!

​​The G-D ​subject ​is a difficult one because G-D means something different to everyone.​ But no matter what you believe, it’s because you choose to believe. ​
​ ​
​And I choose to believe the ones we have loved and lost are enjoying their new lives, resting in peace ​or partying like it’s 1999. And if it’s the latter, they’re in luck because now they have Prince, Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Debbie Reynolds, David Bowie, Glen Frey, Leonard Cohen and Zsa Zsa with them.

And if they can’t be here with us, I’m glad they’re there with them.

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Thanks for being a part of our 2016. We hope you guys all have a happy, healthy New Year.

XOXO, The DS&D Crew

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