Date:         Tue, 12 Aug 1997 20:31:25 -0500
From: Phanny <corbett@SLUAXA.SLU.EDU>
Subject:      SUB: CONTEST: Meg

Obituary

        Dead. At thirty-eight.  Just an afterthought in the corner of the
Sunday paper.  "Sounds familiar," I thought.
"Must be a friend of my mother's."
        I read furthur--then it hit.   This was no silver-haired lady.  This
was my friend.  We'd lost contact, but her memory still haunts me.  A simple
girl with long sandy hair and an easy smile,  someone with whom I had
everything and nothing in common.   Her children and surviviors were listed,
but no mention that she was a victim.
        Kids attract kids.  Mine, being no different, introduced me to half
the world by the time they were in kindergarten.  That's how we met.
        I remember her disappearing into the shelter, tired and defeated.
Her long hair hung down her back, and her black slacks drooped off her
too-thin frame.  Leaving her there was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
        The rum Cokes had become more frequent than our iced tea, and she
couldn't  fight his mental and physical abuse. Somehow,  I knew she wasn't
strong enough to survive.
        After I stopped crying, I wrote a check to a women's charity.
Perhaps it will help my sisters who can't walk away.